


The Haunting of House Black

by Turtle_Soup



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Character, Cellos, Classical Music, Divination, Dysfunctional Family, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Musicians, Other, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus plays cello, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Tarot, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, There is also a string quartet, Violins, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, bipolar character, viola jokes, violas, you can fight me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_Soup/pseuds/Turtle_Soup
Summary: “Mother, why haven’t we met cousin Cedrella?” He heard the crack before he felt the bite of her palm, hot as it raced up his cheek and curled around his eye. It didn’t hurt half so much as the burn of his mother’s dark eyed glare. The scorched velvet over the curled silk script reading “Cedrella” taunted him from over her shoulder.OrAll his life Regulus has been taught one thing: Family is what matters most. No one ever taught him there were exceptions to that.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black
Comments: 14
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue with this, I might not. It was just an idea I wanted to get down and I liked it enough to post it. Let me know what you think?

The first time his mother hit him, Regulus was seven years old. He’d not expected it, which was probably why his mouth gaped like an open wound, his watering eyes wide and unblinking despite the sting. He’d seen her strike people before. Mostly Sirius when he argued with her, but he’d seen her strike Kreacher, if the poor elf didn’t beat her to bashing his own head. On one occasion, he’d even seen her slap his father. All of those times she’d had reason to be angry. The only thing he’d done was ask a question.

“Mother, why haven’t we met cousin Cedrella?” He heard the crack before he felt the bite of her palm, hot as it raced up his cheek and curled around his eye. It didn’t hurt half so much as the glare in his mother’s dark eyes. The burnt patch hovering over the embroidered banner reading “Cedrella” taunted him from over her shoulder.

“You’ve no cousin with any such name,” she said, icily. Had she been any other person, even his father, Regulus might’ve pointed to the tapestry and said ‘But she’s right there. She’s our first cousin twice removed, just like cousin Callidora.’ Instead of praise for remembering how to name familial relations, his mother said “Leave. I can’t stand to look at you.” He’d turned and brushed past a wide-eyed, gaping Sirius on his way up the stairs, hot tears rolling down his still throbbing cheek.

“You can’t mention the burns around her Reg,” Sirius said later, wringing excess cold water out of a washcloth and pressing it to his brother’s swollen eye. “They make her angry. Forget about Cedrella. Actually, forget about the tapestry. She’ll just hit you again.”

“But they’re family,” said Regulus, squirming as the cold cloth met swollen skin. “Mother says there’s nothing more important than family.”

“And she’s right. But they’re not family,” said Sirius, gripping his shoulder to hold him still. “At least, mum doesn’t think so.”

“Why not?”

  
His brother went silent, a rarity Regulus would usually consider a blessing. Mother didn’t get mad when Sirius stayed quiet. “I think they did something wrong.” He said finally.

“What did they do?”

Sirius shrugged. “Must be something wretched. I can’t see mum burning someone off the tapestry unless they really messed up.

“But why would she hit me for it?” Regulus immediately felt stupid for asking the question. Their mother wasn’t the most predictable of people and if the many times she’d struck Sirius were any indication, it was probably luck Regulus hadn’t before now felt his mother’s hand. Sirius sat back, frowning. Sirius almost never frowned.

“You know what she’s like,” he said, placing a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, the movement giving Regulus a waft of the vegetable patch outside the kitchen door, toothpaste and a warm scent Regulus could only associate with Sirius. “She just goes off sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Regulus furrowed his brow. “How can I make her happy again?”

Sirius blinked. Then looped his arms around his brother. The smell from earlier wrapped around him like the weight of Sirius’ arms over his shoulder blades. “You make her plenty happy right now. Today’s only a bad day for her. I promise it’ll be better tomorrow.” He pulled back, smiling. “And I wouldn’t break a promise would I?”

Regulus smiled back, shaking his head. Sirius never broke his promises.

\---

Regulus got a sense of what cousin Cedrella and her fellow scorched family members had done when he was ten.

“Engaged? To a _mudblood_?”

“It’s terrible Walburga,” his aunt’s usually shrill voice had risen in pitch, cracking as she said her sister in law’s name. Regulus wondered if she’d been crying. He and Sirius hadn’t been invited to tea, so they were reduced to what information they could hear and see through the sitting room door’s keyhole. Right now the irregular gap presented Regulus with a lovely view of Bella’s embroidered sneer and her sister’s ash blonde fringe. His aunt’s shadow turned the tapestry’s emerald background the color of seaweed.

“Cissa cried all night. I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” the bite in his mother’s tone surprised him. She’d never spoken that way to Aunt Druella or Uncle Cygnus. “There’s no reasoning with blood traitors. Out of their wits, all of them. All you can do is prune the branch before it infects the whole tree.”

“You really think she won’t come back?”

“Did Cedrella? Did Isla?”

“No, but we’re talking about Andi,” said Aunt Druella. At her daughter’s name, her voice cracked again. There was an urgency to her words that didn’t fit the circumstances. “She’s always loved her family more than anything. You told me yourself you’d never seen a closer set of sisters.”

“If she loved Bellatrix and Narcissa more than the mudblood she wouldn’t marry him,” his mother said as though dealing with a particularly willful toddler.

Regulus turned to his brother. “Who’s Andromeda marrying?”

Sirius was glaring at the door. “She’s marrying the man she loves. They should be happy for her.”

Regulus couldn’t help but puzzle over his brother’s reaction. A year ago, his brother might’ve been distraught about Andromeda’s engagement and imminent disownment, as Regulus was. It was only natural, they’d loved Andi. But ever since he’d come home from Hogwarts, it was as though someone had taken his brother’s place. Regulus knew his brother had changed, expected it even. No one spends a year away from home and comes back the same. But it’d been so drastic he couldn’t come up with an explanation. He’d scolded Regulus for using the word mudblood, insisting the more polite word was muggleborn and his arguments with mother had turned from mere clashes over disobedience to full on screaming matches over muggle clothing at the dinner table. Regulus could understand how “mudblood” might be seen as offensive, but Sirius’ new defense of muggles and muggleborn witches and wizards was an endless source of confusion to Regulus.

“But they said he’s muggleborn.”

“Damn it Reg,” Sirius hissed. There was a rustling of robes and the muffled thud of a cup being placed on the table from the sitting room. “Muggleborns aren’t—”

“ _Ignis recta_.” Regulus fell back into his brother at the flash of flame, sending them both tumbling to the hall carpet. When he sat up, the acrid smell of smoke and singed thread wafted into his nostrils. He stifled the urge to cough.

“You did the right thing Druella.” Eyes still wide, Regulus knelt back at the key hole, which now framed the bottom of a singed patch just above Bella’s head. This time, her sneer seemed to scold him for being caught off guard.

Regulus’ mouth fell open. “She—”

“Young masters!” Kreacher stood at the end of the hall, droopy ears flattened. “Why do they do such a thing. Eavesdropping!” The house elf sputtered.

“My mistress hates such nasty things. And poor mistress Druella, how can the young masters treat her this way?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Maybe if you kept that saggy old growth you call a nose out of our business—” Regulus interrupted him with a sharp jab of his elbow to his brother’s ribs.

“We were just leaving, Kreacher. What’s for lunch?” Even as the house elf shuffled them off to the dining room, the singed smell and the image of Andromeda’s face blasted from the tapestry stayed with him. He made a promise to himself. If it made him lose Sirius and his parents, bothering with muggleborns and blood traitors came at much too high a cost.

\---

Sirius was angry. Regulus didn’t know what about exactly, but the heavy-handed Rachmaninoff thundering from the piano in Aunt Cassiopeia’s sitting room made it clear Sirius wanted to hit something, even if he had to settle for their great aunt’s poor piano. Regulus was attempting to busy himself by flipping through a cigar tin of old family photos, hoping Aunt Cassiopeia would be too caught up in Sirius’ abuse of her instrument to chide him for being disrespectful during his brother’s portion of their music lesson.

Most were photographs of his grandparents’ and great aunt Dorea’s weddings or of his great grandparents posing with their children for various family portraits. He flipped from a photograph of his great Aunt Dorea as a child posing with a dark colored Maine coon kitten to one of four children sitting next to various instruments. Aunt Cassiopeia sat by a piano, Aunt Dorea seated next to her behind a harp. On her other side were two boys, the tallest of which he recognized as his grandfather holding the body of a cello. A violin rested on the shoulder of the younger boy. Regulus assumed he must be a cousin. He flipped the photograph over.

_Pollux, Cassiopeia, Marius, and Dorea before their first Christmas Recital._

Regulus frowned. The name Marius looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he’d seen it.

“Well,” said Aunt Cassiopeia as Sirius hammered out the final chord. “That was certainly a passionate performance.” She pursed her lips, looking at Sirius over the tops of her spectacles. “You missed half the notes, but a valiant attempt for someone your age. I thought you were working on Debussy this week.”

“Yes, you play Debussy quite well.” Regulus turned at the new voice. An older man stood in the doorway, tucking a pocket watch into the pocket of his robes. “Besides, your hands aren’t big enough for Rachmaninoff yet. Better to leave his pieces to Bellatrix for now.”

“And I thought you liked Debussy,” Aunt Cassiopeia added.

Sirius huffed. “I do. I just wanted to play Rachmaninoff.”

Their great aunt raised an eyebrow. “You must’ve driven your parents mad if you sounded like that every time you practiced.”

From the hint of smirk that lit his brother’s face, Regulus assumed that had been the idea. Sirius must be arguing with mother again. Aunt Cassiopeia let out a sigh before turning her dark eyes to Regulus.

“Why don’t you and Pollux get started. I’ll get Pepper to fix us some lunch.” At her name, the elf appeared with a crack. She followed barely a step behind her mistress as Aunt Cassiopeia made her way to the door.

Regulus crossed the room to where his instrument lay by the piano. He’d just sat down to adjust the end pin when he felt his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you let me use that one today.”

Regulus frowned but handed the instrument over. “Is something wrong with yours?”

“It no longer belongs to me.”

“You… you gave it away?” Regulus looked from his grandfather to the nearly hundred-year-old rosewood case that had housed the cello in question. It had been part of a quartet Regulus’ great-great grandfather commissioned for his own children among two violins and a viola. All four instruments were expertly made and charmed to never scratch or go out of tune, but it wasn’t just their age and quality that made them so valuable. The scroll of each instrument was elaborately carved into a figure from the myth of Andromeda. The first violin, now in Regulus’ father’s possession, had king Cephus of Aethiopia whittled between its tuning pegs. Cephus’ wife, Queen Cassiopeia formed the second violin’s scroll, the viola, formerly Andromeda’s, showed the chained maiden that had been his cousin’s namesake, and the cello’s depicted the sea monster Cetus, mid-leap among rolling foam-tipped waves. When arranged into a quartet, the king and queen watched their daughter, put forth as a sacrifice to the monster sent by Poseidon to punish Aethiopia for its queen’s vanity.

“Yes,” said Pollux, giving his grandson a small smile. “I knew someone who would appreciate it more than I.” The silver-haired man slid the case towards Regulus.

Regulus blinked, then bent to open the case. The faint piney scent of rosin rose to meet him as he stared down at the polished sea monster, baring its teeth at him from where it was nestled into the case’s green velvet lining. He looked back to his grandfather, wide eyed. “You’re giving it to me?”

“You’ll be off to Hogwarts next year and you’re advanced enough for a such quality instrument,” said his grandfather. “I thought it’d give you an incentive to keep practicing and I know you’ll take good care of it.”

Regulus looked back in awe at the cello, sliding his fingers up the smooth, pale wood of the finger board until it ran into the dark glossy finish of the scroll. “Thank you,” he breathed. “I hope I will be worthy of it.”

Pollux smiled. “I know you will be. But you won’t improve any if we spend the rest of our time talking, so set up your rock stop and pull out the Haydn concerto. Mind your phrasing and keep the chords in tune.”

Regulus finished his own lesson without any of the dramatics of his brother’s. His grandfather gave him a list of improvements and a new piece to practice before dismissing himself to go to lunch with his wife.

As he carefully put his instrument away, the cigar box on the side table caught his attention once more. Aunt Cassiopeia ought to know who Marius is. Tucking the box into his robes, Regulus descended the stairs to the dining room. Sirius was already seated, spooning large bites of thick vegetable soup into his mouth. Their mother would’ve scolded him had they been at home, but Aunt Cassiopeia had always been a bit more lenient when it came to her grand nieces and nephews. She looked at him over her copy of the prophet as he entered.

“There you are. We were wondering if my brother would keep you to himself all day.” The older woman gestured to a chair. Regulus sat, setting the cigar box on the table. Pepper appeared with a cracking sound and set a bowl of soup and a basket of warm, dark bread that smelt of yeast and rye in front of him.

He patted her on the head with a smile. “Thank you Pepper.”

“Master Regulus is too kind,” The house elf said, bowing until Regulus could see the brown speckles covering the backs of her ears before disapperating with another loud crack.

Aunt Cassiopeia’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a half smile. “She goes on and on about you when you’re not here.”

Regulus ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat. “She’s a good house elf.”

“She is.” Aunt Cassiopeia agreed, gesturing to the cigar box. “I see you’ve been going through my pictures again?”

“Haven’ chou seen ‘em aw?” Sirius asked through a mouthful of soup, giving Regulus a gorgeous view of a piece of mashed carrot.

“Chew your food,” Regulus said dully as he popped the lid off the box. He pulled the photograph from the top of the stack and slid it towards his great aunt who straightened her spectacles. “Who’s the boy with the violin. He’s listed as Marius on the back.”

His aunt paused and looked up from the photograph. From the corner of his eye, Regulus saw Sirius glance between the two of them. Aunt Cassiopeia sat back in her chair with a sigh, removing her spectacles and pinching at the bridge of her nose. “He would’ve been your great uncle.”

Regulus frowned. “Would’ve been? Then he’s dead?”

“He was disowned when he was seventeen.”

“Oh.” Regulus thought back to all the scorched patches on the tapestry. “Did he marry a muggle like...” He trailed off at Andromeda’s name.

Aunt Cassiopeia shook her head with a chuckle. “No, I’m not sure Marius would’ve known what to do with a muggle if he’d met one. He was a squib.” Regulus blinked. He hadn’t thought it possible for there to be a squib in the family.

“A squib?” Evidently Sirius thought the same.

“Yes, my parents looked after him until he was of majority, then dropped him off at the train station. I’m not sure where he went.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Sirius cut her off.

“But he didn’t do anything wrong. How could they just put him out like that?” Sirius’ brow furrowed, only serving to emphasize how out of place his frown looked. Sirius smiled and scowled and gaped like a sinkhole, but it was rare to actually see him frown. Regulus was startled at how genuinely upset his brother looked. Though amusement glinted in her eyes, the smile Aunt Cassiopeia gave her grand-nephew was apologetic.

“Don’t think of it like that, Sirius. He was never under the delusion he’d be allowed to stay. And it’s not like he was tossed out with nothing but the clothes on his back. My mother gave him enough money to reasonably support him until he could make other arrangements and he kept most of his possessions.” She tapped the photograph. “I doubt my parents would’ve cared if he’d written us, not that he ever did. Perhaps it was fortunate that he didn’t.”

Her mouth tightened into a line. “My grandmother would’ve been horrified if she’d found out we were writing him.”

Sirius was still frowning. “But they disowned him for something he couldn’t control. How is that right?”

Aunt Cassiopeia sighed. “Right or not, there’s nothing to be done about it now. Eat your soup, your mother’s expecting you back soon.”

Regulus started on his now tepid soup, knowing now was not the time to push for more information. Besides, what did he care about muggles and squibs? He had Sirius and his parents and lots of cousins and aunts and uncles who loved him. Why would he push them aside for a great uncle he’d never met?

\---

“Merlin Reg, what all did you bring?” Sirius pushed one end of the mahogany trunk as Regulus huffed, pulling at the handle on the other. Sirius had better warn him before setting the trunk down. Between the trunk at his front and the cello strapped to his back, Regulus was an ill-timed breeze away from toppling over.

“My school things, non-uniform clothes, treats for Pygmalion.” The grey faced sooty owl ruffled its wings from where his cage sat on Sirius’ trunk a few steps away. “I packed a few books as well.”

Sirius’ head whipped up, brow raised. “A few?”

Regulus inhaled deeply as he gave another valiant pull at his trunk, cursing the uneven brick platform that made his footing so shaky. Unlike the muggle platform on the other side of the wall, which was covered in dust and smelt strongly of tar, platform nine and three-quarters was free of dirt, grime, and vermin, its odour reminding Regulus of a roaring hearth at Christmas with something spicy he could only describe as magic. “Just the important ones. _Quidditch through the Ages, The Ultimate Handbook to Handling your Owl, Conquering Classes: Charms to Succeed in Your Studies, A Werewolf in Berlin—”_

“You packed novels? You realize Hogwarts has a library.”

“But what if they don’t have what I want? Besides, I like having my own books.”

Sirius dropped his end of the trunk on the platform by his own luggage with a sigh, sending Regulus stumbling before he crashed into his brother. Sirius caught the top of the cello case, the strap pulling taut and biting into Regulus’ shoulder, keeping him from any further flailing. “You and Remus. I’ll never understand it.” Though he sounded irritated, the corners of his lips were turned up. He grinned and ruffled Regulus’ hair before setting him upright, making his carefully combed fringe go frizzy. Regulus didn’t care, but mother would throw a fit. Sirius gave him a thoughtful look.

“Maybe you’ll be a Ravenclaw. You certainly read like one.”

“Nonsense, he’ll go to Slytherin.” Walburga approached her sons, Orion still talking to Uncle Cygnus a few meters down the platform. Predictably, she scowled and began fussing with Regulus’ hair.

Sirius smirked. “I didn’t.”

Walburga didn’t spare him a glance as she stepped back to examine her younger son’s appearance. “As stubborn and thoughtless as you are, I can’t say I was surprised. However, Regulus possesses a certain degree of… reticence that you lack.” She moved her inspection to her older son, tightening his red and gold tie and smoothing the top of his hair. He’d insisted on growing it out, much to her disapproval. Regulus was sure the only reason she hadn’t tied him to a chair and cut it herself was that Sirius had pointed out her own father had long hair.

The look on his face as their mother pulled a thin leather tie from her pocket and tried to pull his hair back reminded Regulus of one of Aunt Cassiopeia’s cats when mistakenly left out in the rain. He batted her hands away, scowling. “Reticence? I can be reticent.”

“Do you even know what it means?” Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius scowled at him. “Quiet. Reserved. Taciturn. Soulless and bloody boring, that’s what you cheeky sod.”

“Sirius.” Walburga frowned at her oldest with narrowed eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, daring the other to look away first before Walburga sighed and shook her head, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “Well, if you know what it is, do try to show some. I don’t want to receive any letters from Professor McGonagall about whatever you and those classmates of yours have hexed or blown up or—”

“Flooded?” Sirius added with a smirk. “We can’t forget about the great lakes can we?”

Walburga remained unimpressed. “I’d hardly call a few flooded bathrooms a great lake.”

Sirius looked ready to protest, but Regulus jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Sirius’ weird pride in his pranks be damned, the last thing he needed to do was set their mother off by reminding her it’d been every bathroom in the school. Regulus had been sitting by her when she’d received that particular letter. Poor Kreacher had been so frightened he’d dropped an entire tea tray.

Walburga shook her head. “Really, you ought to set a better example for your brother.”

“Reggie’s his own person,” Sirius said defiantly. “He doesn’t need me to tell him what to do.”

“Thank Merlin for that. The world would meet its fiery end there were two of you,” said Orion, adjusting his cloak as he approached his family. “Shall we get your things on the train?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the stairs leading up to the train. “If you can get Regulus’ trunk up there. He packed half the library.”

Orion reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, levitating both trunks with an efficient flick. Sirius looked on wide eyed as Regulus fixed his brother with a wry look. Wasn’t the levitation charm a first year spell? Snatching his slack jawed brother by the wrist, Regulus followed his father and the trunks up the steps and down the carpeted walk. Orion stopped at an empty compartment, ushering his sons through the doors and the trunks into the overhead rack. Regulus hefted his cello up beside them. Reaching once more into his pocket, Orion counted out a few sickles, handing three to Sirius and three to Regulus.

“In case you get hungry,” he said, pocketing the extra change. His grey eyes passed over each of his sons. “I expect to hear from both of you by the end of the week. Hopefully before I hear from Professor McGonagall.” At this, he narrowed his gaze as Sirius, who looked bored. As they’d just had this conversation with their mother, he probably was.

“I know you’ll do well. Both of you. Have a good ride.” And with that, Orion left the compartment. Sirius craned his neck out the compartment door, watching their father leave. Then, he stepped up and started down the walkway.

Regulus felt a seed of panic take root in his stomach, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth in an attempt to abate the feeling. Realistically, he knew he’d be fine on his own, but when planning for the trip to Hogwarts, he’d not accounted for the possibility of Sirius not wanting to sit with him. Something inside him sank at that thought. Sirius’ letters home had been riddled with the names of other people. Of course he would have new friends. Sirius loved people, it would be suffocating for him to not have friends. Trying not to feel too put out, Regulus sat back down in the compartment and pulled a dog-eared paperback from his robe. This was fine. Even if he ended up riding to Hogwarts with complete strangers, he had a book. There was no situation involving strangers that couldn’t be solved with a book. Taking a deep breath, Regulus flipped to where he’d been reading at breakfast just as the door slid open.

“They must not be here yet. I can’t—” Sirius cut himself off, frowning at Regulus. “Is something wrong?”

Regulus blinked, then shook his head, the nauseous roiling in his stomach settling slightly. “No. Everything’s fine.”

“You sure?” Sirius squinted at him, taking a seat. “You’re doing that thing. With your lip.”

Regulus immediately stopped chewing on his lip, looking away from his brother. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

Sirius’ brow furrowed. “What? You never do that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoughtfully at Regulus. “Only time I’ve ever seen you do that is when Bella teases you or mum brings you to dinner parties and I have to—” Sirius blinked. Then, a truly, indisputably evil grin stretched across his face. Regulus scooted back towards the window.

“Aw,” said Sirius, not dissimilarly to how he spoke to grandfather Arcturus’ dog. “Did someone say hello while I was out?”

Regulus shot Sirius a look. “No. What are you doing? You sound like an idiot.” The insult didn’t have the intended effect of dimming his brother’s gleeful expression.

“No?” Sirius crowded closer as Regulus debated throwing himself to the compartment floor. “Then did my baby brother think I would just leave him alone with all the big bad strangers? Didn’t mummy warn you about talking to people you don’t know?”

“Sirius, get off,” Regulus slowly started inching his way towards the edge of the bench as his brother closed in on him. “I mean it.”

“Come now, don’t be like that,” Sirius crooned. Regulus pushed off the bench the moment Sirius sprang forward to wrangle his brother into a hug. Contrary to how Regulus had heard Aunt Druella talk about Bellatrix and Andromeda as children, he and Sirius had never been the kind of siblings to get caught up in horseplay or fistfights. The rolling, pushing, and squirming currently taking place on the compartment floor happened rarely, usually when, like today, Sirius decided smothering affection was an effective means of irritating Regulus. As it almost always did, this particular instance ended with Regulus’ face trapped by Sirius’ armpit, warm and smelling strongly of sweat and detergent, as his brother waxed poetic about how never in all of Aunt Cassiopeia’s cats’ nine lives would he ever abandon his bitty baby brother.

“You’re only a year older,” Regulus grumbled, trying to turn his nose out of the vicinity of his brother’s armpit.

“Exactly,” said Sirius, shifting in his seat on Regulus’ leg. “I’m older.”

Even though his brother couldn’t see it, Regulus made a face. “Yes, you’re older. Let me go now?”

“Hmm,” Regulus could hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t know. I’m rather offended you thought I’d left you.”

“You’re allowed to sit with your friends.”

“I know.” Sirius rest his head on his hand, elbow digging into Regulus’ ribs. “My friends are allowed to sit here too. Besides, I want you to meet them.”

“Oh.” Despite the admission, Sirius still didn’t let him up.

“You do know,” said Sirius, teasing gone from his voice. “Even if we’re in different houses, I’m just across the castle. I can’t promise I’ll get to see you more than at meals every day, but if someone bothers you or a teacher’s out for your blood or if for Merlin knows why you actually miss home, you can come find me. You know that, right?”

Taking the opportunity of his brother’s momentary distraction, Regulus pulled his head out of Sirius’ armpit, blinking a few times. Sirius looked earnest, no trace of a smirk or grin. Slowly, Regulus nodded.

Sirius smiled. “Brilliant. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, why don’t—”

The door slid open, revealing a boy with glasses and a mop of dark curls. The boy gasped as his hand flew to his chest. “Sirius, my love!”

Sirius popped up like a gopher, flinging his arms out. “James, darling!” The new boy flung himself at Sirius, revealing a boy with caramel colored hair and a shorter blond boy with a round face looking on nervously from behind him.

The brown-haired boy had a hand over his face, which he removed with a sigh to reveal tired brown eyes. “You couldn’t wait five minutes?”

He was drowned out by exclamations of “I thought we’d be parted forever” and “I could never forget you, love”. Then, the boy looked to where Regulus sat on the floor and smiled apologetically.

“You’re Sirius’ brother? Regulus?”

Regulus nodded.

The boy crouched before him and held out a hand. Regulus caught the faint scent of chocolate and ink. “Remus Lupin. You deserve a medal.”

Regulus blinked, then looked around at the compartment. Sirius and the bespectacled boy were still proclaiming their love while the nervous boy struggled to lift his trunk to the overhead rack. Regulus realized he was still sitting on the compartment floor, his hair and clothes now likely mussed and wrinkled. He couldn’t help the near hysterical laugh that burst from his lips.

\---

“I’ll sit up front, don’t be nervous about it. It’s just a hat.” Sirius gave his shoulder a firm pat before backing off in the direction of the other second years. “Cissa will probably be saving a spot for you at the Slytherin table, so you’ll see her too. No need to worry.”

Regulus hadn’t bothered after his first attempt to tell his brother he wasn’t nervous about the sorting. Despite what Sirius may wish, he was almost certain he’d go to Slytherin. Almost the entirety of the Black family had. It was more the getting to the sorting ceremony that made him uneasy. Granted, a boat of other first years was more appealing to him than a compartment of upperclassmen, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Regulus waved as Sirius finished backing away to where his friends stood.

After meeting his friends, Regulus had no doubts about what had caused Sirius to change. Remus was a half-blood and James, the melodramatic dark-haired boy, was a Potter. In their mother’s eyes, a boy from a family so public in their support of muggleborns would hardly be better than a muggleborn himself. Regulus thought they were kind enough, but worried about what sort of trouble Sirius would find if their mother knew the exact lineages of the classmates with whom Sirius caused so much trouble.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years!” an enormous bearded man holding a lantern beckoned to the large group still sorting itself out at the platform. Taking a deep breath, Regulus steeled himself and approached the growing number of first year students.

And promptly fell on his back, breath leaving his lungs as something barreled into him.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Regulus spat out a mouth full of black robe and blinked up at whoever’d run into him.

A boy with tawny brown hair sat across from him, trying desperately to shove a squirming brown and white rat into his robe pocket. “So sorry, I swear he knows how to undo the button.” With a final shove, the rat fell into the pocket, which was quickly buttoned closed. The vague shape of the thrashing rodent could still be seen through the fabric.

“No…worries,” said Regulus, head still spinning.

The boy stood, brushing off his robes before offering a hand to help Regulus up. “You alright?”

Regulus nodded, gratefully hauling himself up. “You?”

The boy laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you broke my fall. Barty Crouch, nice to meet you.”

Regulus dusted his own robes, nodding in acknowledgment. “Regulus Black. Pleasure.”

The boy, Barty, blinked in surprise. “Black? As in Arcturus Black?”

“He’s my grandfather. Do you know him?” Regulus started walking, sparing a glance at the group of first years following the large man with the lantern.

“He works with my dad,” said Barty, scrambling after Regulus.

Whatever nervousness Regulus might’ve had about the boat ride disappeared. If this boy’s father worked with his grandfather, he wasn’t really a stranger. “Really? I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

The two stepped into a boat, one of the few that hadn’t started towards the castle. Regulus had to stop and take it all in, any answer Barty might’ve given lost on him. The castle was brightly lit, almost glowing against the starry night sky. The lantern light from the boats glinting off the lake only heightened the ethereal feeling he got looking at it. Even though he grew up surrounded by magic, Regulus didn’t think he’d ever seen something more magical.

“Oh, Ella, look.” The boat tilted as a brown-haired girl stepped into the boat. A second girl with wild black curls, Ella supposedly, stepped in after her.

“I’m having trouble not seeing it,” she replied flatly, despite her equally awed expression. Her grey eyes flicked to Regulus and Barty before looking back at the castle.

As the boat left the docks, the brown-haired girl turned to the boys. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Regulus nodded, but said nothing. Barty however answered eagerly. “I’ve never seen anything like it. My mother used to say there was nothing like it in all of Britain.”

The brunette grinned. “My brother told me it only gets better. I’m so excited, do you know which house you’ll be in? My dad and my brother are Ravenclaws, but my mum was a Gryffindor. I think I’m more of a Ravenclaw though.”

Barty shrugged. “I’m an only child and my parents were both Slytherin. I suppose that’s where I’ll be. What about you Regulus? Didn’t your brother sort Gryffindor?”

Regulus supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Gossip traveled fast among purebloods and the son of a Slytherin family sorting Gryffindor was about the juiciest bit of gossip you could get barring a murder or disownment. “Yes, but the rest of my family’s Slytherin. Odds are I’ll be the same.”

The brunette mulled this over before turning to her friend, who in the time they’d started the conversation had pulled out a book. “I don’t think you ever answered me on the train. What house do you think you’ll sort to?”

The girl raised a dark eyebrow, eyes flicking over to the brunette. Regulus suspected she hadn’t actually been reading. “I told you, I don’t know. Dad was at Beauxbatons and you already know my mum’s a Ravenclaw.”

Spotting Barty’s look of confusion, the brunette clarified, “We’re cousins. Our Grandmother is Eleanora Ollivander.”

Barty’s eyes widened. “Like the wandmaker?”

The brunette rolled her eyes. “Yes, like our grandfather. But everyone knows him and no one knows our grandmother, so Ella and I decided to fix that, right Ella?”

Ella nodded, not looking up from her book.

Regulus gave her a nod of acknowledgment. The Ollivanders were a pureblood family. He wouldn’t get into trouble by talking to them. Regulus stuck out his hand, trying his best to channel his father at a business luncheon. “Regulus. It’s nice to meet you. Do your parents make wands as well?”

The girl shook his hand firmly. “Genoveva. It’s nice to meet you too. My father makes wands, but Ella’s mother—”

“Is an unspeakable,” finished Ella, licking her finger and turning a page over. “As is my father. That’s how they met.”

“You said your father went to Beauxbatons,” said Barty, leaning forward. “Is he French?”

Ella nodded, still flipping through the book Regulus was now almost sure she wasn’t reading.

“First years!” A woman wearing a pointed hat was calling this time. Being one of the last boats to leave, they were also one of the last boats to dock.

“I suppose I’ll see you in classes,” said Genoveva as she walked towards the rest of the students whose last names started with O. “Good luck in your sorting!”

As the professor in the hat began arranging everyone in order of surname, Regulus was surprised to find that Ella had been placed between him and Marissa Bulstrode before remembering that Genoveva had said Ella’s mother had been an Ollivander. As the line of first years was led into the great hall, Regulus found himself torn between looking for his brother at the Gryffindor table and trying to start a conversation with the student behind him, as many of the first years had, but Ella seemed to actually be reading now and after catching that the title was in French, he decided to leave her alone. He knew he wouldn’t want to be bothered when trying to read French.

Movement from the table decked in red and gold drew his attention. Sirius was standing on the bench waving both arms over his head with a wide grin on his face. Warmth flushing over his cheeks, Regulus gave a small wave back.

“Abbot, Elisabeth!” all chatter ceased as a girl with braids timidly climbed the steps to where a threadbare brown hat with a drooping point was propped up on a stool. The moment the professor sat it on her head, it quite literally came to life. Regulus could only watch in fascination as the material folded and wrinkled at the front, forming vague outlines of eyes, a nose, and a mouth, as though someone had draped fabric over a real face. After a moment, the hat had reached a decision.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The table decorated in black and yellow cheered, applauding their new housemate as she excitedly made her way to their table. Any anxiety about his own sorting faded as he watched the hat sort the rest of the As. What sort of charm work had gone into that hat? How could it possibly know where best to put someone? Did it sort by family? Clearly it couldn’t, how would it know where to put the muggleborns?  
“Black, Regulus.” Regulus blinked. Was it really his turn? Something firm poked his spine. Ella’s book. Blushing, he made his way up the stairs to the stool, trying his best not to stare at the professor as she placed the hat on his head. For a moment, all was silent. Was the hat performing some sort of spell?

_“Ah, another Black. Far more curious than the last one I see.”_

_It was in his head? Regulus thought, trying to remember something from his father’s library that fit what he’d seen of the hat. Was a professor using legilimens to read his mind, then animating the hat? Could hats be Legilimens?_

_“Well done. You’d do well in Ravenclaw, you know.”_

_At the word, something sharp caught in his stomach, bringing back the neauseating feeling from the train._

_“Not Ravenclaw? Why so worried?”_

_“Not Ravenclaw. I have to go Slytherin.” Surely the hat must be mistaken. No one besides the hat and maybe Sirius had thought he’d go anywhere but Slytherin. What would mother say if he sorted anywhere but Slytherin?_

_“I see. Well, if you’re so insistent, better be…”_

“SLYTHERIN!” Regulus blinked as the silver and green table erupted into cheers. On instinct he sought out his brother at the Gryffindor table as he walked towards the other side of the room. To his surprise, Sirius was clapping, the grin from earlier still on his face. As he sat down next to Narcissa, he realized with a shaky breath just how unsteady his hands were.

“It’s over now.” Narcissa pulled him closer, giving him a quick hug. She smiled. “Welcome to Slytherin.”

“Black, Capella.” Both cousins looked up. Regulus saw Sirius climb the bench again to get a better look. Ella climbed the stairs, tucking her book away just as she got to the stool.

As the Professor placed the hat on her head, Narcissa leaned over. “Do you know her?”

“I met her and her cousin on the boat ride over. She’s the granddaughter of Ollivander,” Regulus watched as the newly known Capella tilted her head, grey eyes focused up towards the hat. “Her cousin called her Ella.”

“Surely it must be a coincidence,” said Narcissa, squinting at the girl on the stool. Regulus wondered if she saw any resemblance to her sisters. Capella’s dark hair was curly like Bellatrix’s and Andromeda’s, but lots of people had curly hair. Narcissa shook her head. “Lots of witches and wizards name their children after stars.”

Regulus nodded. He’d never seen a Capella on the tapestry.

“RAVENCLAW!”

As the hat was lifted off her head, she gave a small smile, striding confidently towards the table decked in blue and bronze. Regulus wondered if he would’ve looked like that had he let the hat have its way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to continue this. I will try to update somewhat regularly, but uni is currently trying to beat me into the ground, so no promises. I hope you enjoy chapter 2!

“Oi Black, why is it all your siblings don’t sort Slytherin?”

At the new voice, Regulus looked up from the books he was unpacking. Two beds away from the one at which he’d found his luggage was a rather stout boy with short cropped black hair. He smirked, beady eyes fixed on Regulus.

“It was humiliating enough when your brother defected to Gryffindor, but your sister going Ravenclaw? The Black name’s really gone to mud if this is its legacy.”

Biting back the urge to defend his family’s honor and – to his own surprise – the honor of the Ollivander girl, Regulus gave the boy a flat stare. “My apologies, do I know you?”

The boy blinked, then scowled. In all honesty, Regulus did recognize him. He’d eaten a whole goose at grandmother Irma’s birthday party last year. He certainly wasn’t a Black – if he were, his name would be on the tapestry – so he must be from the Crabbe side of the family.

“Crabbe,” The boy ground out. “Gustav Crabbe.”

“Well,” said Regulus, turning away to stack another book on his nightstand. “As for my brother, I can’t give you an answer. No one knows why Sirius does anything. As for other siblings,” he paused, blinking passively at the Crabbe boy. “I wonder at your thinking I have any.”

“She’s a witch and her name’s Black. She’s got to be related. Unless,” Crabbe put his hands on his hips, smirk turning triumphant. “Unless she’s a mudblood and your family shares a name with _muggles._ If that’s not scandalous I don’t know what is.”

Regulus shrugged. “I’ve never seen the Ravenclaw girl before today, nor to my knowledge has my brother or cousin. As far as I’m aware, she’s no relation of mine.”

“But Capella is the brightest star in the constellation Auriga,” said the boy unpacking next to Regulus. Crabbe and Regulus both turned to look at him. The boy shrank back under the scrutiny, ducking his head to hide further behind his dirty blond fringe as his eyes flicked nervously between them. “I mean, that’s sort of the theme isn’t it? Sirius is the brightest star in Canus Major, Regulus is the brightest star in Leo.” He shrugged stiffly in a way that looked like it was supposed to be casual. “I’m Evan Rosier. My aunt Druella is married to Cygnus Black. I know the pattern. Capella fits.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” For the first time since the sorting, Barty spoke, placing a stack of leather bound notebooks in the drawer of his nightstand. “We met her and her cousin on the boats. Her mother’s an Ollivander and her father’s French. The Ollivanders always sort Ravenclaw, so even if she were related, her sorting’s not odd, much less _scandalous_.” The last word was directed at Crabbe, likely at his criticism of Sirius’ sorting. Deserved or not, insulting the heir to a prominent pureblood family, in front of his brother no less, was poor manners.

“But the Blacks were French, right?” asked Rosier, draping a folded quilt over the foot of his bed. “My uncle says the first Blacks came over from France with one of those muggle conquerors. If her father’s French, couldn’t she be related?”

Crabbe’s expression turned gleeful, though Regulus couldn’t understand why. They’d already established any relation to Capella Black wouldn’t be shameful. He shrugged. “In that case, the relation’s so distant it’s hardly a relation at all. Of what interest would that be to me?” That wasn’t quite the truth. Family genealogy had been an interest of Regulus’ since Orion first took time with his younger son to trace the lineage from Regulus’ branch all the way back to Ascellus Black who had, as Rosier said, come to England with William the conqueror. The tapestry didn’t show any siblings Ascellus might’ve had, but perhaps the Ravenclaw girl was descended from a brother of his ancestor. Regulus didn’t want to know how distantly related that made her. An ancestor that far back would probably make her his seventeenth cousin twelve times removed or something.

“You can find out tomorrow,” grumbled a voice from the fifth and final bed by the door, which already had the emerald curtains drawn. A glance at the trunk at its end labeled with an engraved brass nameplate told Regulus its owner was a Selwyn. “Now, would you lot shove it and go to bed? I refuse to show up to my first class exhausted.” It hit Regulus that he’d been assigned to a dorm with four other children of respected pureblood families. It couldn’t be a coincidence, not that he minded of course. He’d have to thank father for whatever strings he’d pulled to have the room arranged this way.

“He’s probably right,” said Barty with a sigh, pulling a set of cotton pajamas from his trunk and shutting it with a quiet thud. “I don’t suppose I’m the only one here whose parents expect top marks. Can’t get those without a good first day.”

A grumble that sounded suspiciously like “Amen” came from Selwyn’s bed. The corner of Regulus’ mouth twitched as he pulled his own pajamas from his trunk. Selwyn was right. The Slytherins shared a charms class with the Ravenclaws. He could find out tomorrow. Besides, his father had always told him if a Ravenclaw was good for anything, it was keeping up their marks. A Ravenclaw might just be the study partner he needed to earn the marks his parents expected free of unnecessary stress. Not that he didn’t think his housemates were clever, but if Selwyn was turning in early, even on the first day, he wasn’t a fool to think no one in his house was opposed sabotage if it meant being top of the class. Slytherins were, after all, the most ambitious.

That night his dreams felt more like memories. He was in Aunt Cassiopeia’s sitting room watching his grandfather play the cello now stored beneath Regulus’ bed, but the music was recognizably Bach violin sonata no. 3, too high to play comfortably on the cello. Then he was seven years old again, staring wide eyed at his mother, Bella’s embroidered face sneering at him over her shoulder from the tapestry. Her face contorted with disgust.

_“Leave. I can’t stand to look at you.”_

\---

Regulus found his classes easy enough. Professor McGonagall had given clear, precise notes he’d have no trouble committing to memory, he probably could’ve taught today’s flying lesson, and he’d learned all the material in his defense textbook from the family library by the time he was eight years old. Potions being a specialty of his mother’s and therefore another significant portion of the books in the Black library, Regulus had known enough prior to his first lesson that Professor Slughorn had awarded Slytherin a total of thirty points for his performance in class. When he and Barty finally arrived in charms, Regulus was more than ready for the welcome excitement of learning about Capella Black’s ancestry.

Upon walking into the classroom, they were immediately waved down by Genoveva. Regulus’ person of interest was seated beside her cousin with her nose tucked in a book. At Genoveva’s sudden movement, she looked up, her gaze settling on Regulus, focusing in on him in a way it hadn’t the night before. His brain supplied him with an unprompted image of his mother eyes when she examined potion ingredients at Diagon alley, calculated and unyielding as though her gaze alone could strip back their current forms to the final product they’d create.

“Ollivander, Black,” Barty greeted the pair with a smile as he and Regulus claimed the seats beside them.

“Crouch. Black.” Genoveva nodded to each of them. Though her smile was polite and composed, the bouncing of her knee betrayed her excitement. She held a deck of cards with painted backs, shuffling them absentmindedly. Oddly, it didn’t seem as strange to Regulus as he thought it should. Ollivander seemed excitable enough that her apparent need to do something with her hands made sense.

She stacked the cards on the table with a satisfying thunk. “It’s wonderful to see you both again, isn’t it Ella?” she nudged her cousin who was still looking quizzically at Regulus. He wryly wondered if Capella often took social cues from her cousin. He hadn’t heard her say more than a few words since meeting her. Perhaps she just didn’t like people.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was smooth and quiet compared to her cousin’s cheerful bell-like tone. A slight emphasis of her vowels was the only thing that betrayed her heritage. “Vivia believes we’ve a great friendship in the making. I suppose it is nice to see you.”

“Oh, stop that.” A faint blush spread across Genoveva’s face as she lightly smacked her cousin’s shoulder. “We won’t make _any_ friends if you act like you don’t want them. And Black might not answer your question if you’re rude.” At this, she looked pointedly at Regulus, looking eager to point the conversation away from her premature assumption of friendship.

“It’s just as well,” said Regulus. “I have questions of my own. Do—”

“Good afternoon!” Professor Flitwick tapped his wand on the podium, drawing the attention of the room. “Welcome to charms, please pull out your books and turn to page fourteen. We’ll be learning theory for our practical lesson tomorrow, the levitation spell!”

Shooting one last look at Capella, he pulled out his book, several sheets of parchment, and a quill. His and Sirius’ struggle with their luggage came to mind. Of course, it wouldn’t occur to Sirius to use the _very first_ _charm he’d ever learned_. The lesson soon became a chorus of _“Wingardium Leviosa”_ as Flitwick walked around, correcting pronunciation and emphasis on different syllables. Then, they moved on to wand movement, swishing and flicking, again and again, over and over and over. Halfway through, Capella resumed reading, book in one hand, wand swishing and flicking precisely in the other. Regulus was certain Flitwick had noticed, but he’d not scolded her for it yet. It’s not like it was affecting her wand hand.

Regulus, for his part, began to draw and after a few minutes, he passed the parchment to Genoveva, who after a cursory glance, passed it to Capella. On the parchment was a neat depiction of his family tree traced back to Phineas Nigellus and a single question:

_Where are you?_

Capella studied the tree, gaze lingering attentively over each name as she continued to swish and flick. A moment later, she pulled out a quill, scribbled something, and handed it back.

_Nowhere._

Regulus frowned, looking back towards her. She shrugged and went back to her book, abandoning her wand altogether. That answered the question of immediate relation. Sighing, he rested his head in his hand, and continued swishing and flicking.

He’d hoped to catch her again at the end of class, but once more, Flitwick seemed to have other plans.

“Miss Ollivander, Miss Black. I’d like to speak to you about the idea you approached me with last night.” He fought the urge to huff like a child as he and Barty exited the classroom. What could possibly be so pressing the two had found it necessary to report it to their head of house before the first day of classes?

“Are you going to wait outside?” Barty asked. “I’ll wait with you if you want.”

Regulus shook his head. “That’s alright. You go on, I don’t want you to miss lunch.”

Barty looked as though he wanted to protest but didn’t argue. “Alright. I’ll save you a seat. Don’t be too long though.” He flashed Regulus a grin. “Crabbe might eat all the sandwiches.”

Regulus returned the smile hesitantly. “If there’s a danger of that, I’m more worried for Crabbe’s health than myself.”

Barty laughed sharply as he started backwards down the hall. “I mean it. Don’t be too long.”

As Barty disappeared around the corner, Regulus smiled to himself. Making friends hadn’t been so hard. Sure, his dorm mates weren’t perfect and he was beginning to think Capella and Genoveva were a little odd, but there was lots of potential for making decent friends. It was only the first day.

“Alright, I’ll ask Shacklebolt if he’s interested and you can handle the rest. Merlin, this is so exciting!” Genoveva’s cheerful voice carried through the door and out into the hall. A moment later, the brunette appeared with her cousin who – to Regulus’ surprise – was grinning broadly.

“I can do that. I’m surprised, I didn’t think he’d agree to sponsor a club so small.” Regulus puzzled at her reaction. Her dry commentary on the boat and brutal honesty in class hadn’t given Regulus the impression that she was shy, but perhaps the no nonsense and sarcasm mellowed out the longer she knew someone. He was easily spotted in the now empty corridor and Genoveva quickly bid her cousin goodbye before starting towards the great hall.

“I thought you’d already asked your question,” she said, walking towards him.

Regulus nodded, giving an apologetic smile. “I wanted to ask if you would mind giving me the names of your parents and any siblings. I plan to send a letter to my father to ask if he recognizes them.”

“It’s funny you say that.” She patted the front of her robes until she found a pocket. “I admire your patience, but alas.” She smiled faintly, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. “I have none of your restraint and wrote to my father the moment I got my hands on a quill.”

Regulus blinked at the letter. “You’ve had an answer?”

She nodded, her lips tightening to a thin line. “He says I’m not to speak to you nor bother you about the matter and reminds me it’s not too late to transfer to another school. Naturally I decided to ask you about it.”

Regulus frowned. If her father had a reason to forbid her from speaking to him, the chances there being no relation, familial or otherwise, seemed slim. Not to discredit his family, but the Blacks had a history of making people mad. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Mirach Black,” she said, putting the letter back in her pocket. “My mother’s Galatea Black, formerly Ollivander, and my little sister’s name is Adhara.”

More stars, though not any names he knew. “And you recognized none of the names on the tree?”

Capella shrugged. “Addie’s middle name is Cassiopeia, though I don’t know if that’s got anything to do with the Cassiopeia on your tree.”

“I’ll write to my father tonight then,” said Regulus. “He should answer me by tomorrow morning. If you’d send me a note of full names and spellings, that would be wonderful.”

Capella nodded. “I can do that. Please tell me when he answers you, if you don’t mind.” She gestured down the corridor. “Shall we go eat? Vivia will pester me all afternoon if I don’t sit with her.”

He nodded. “Gladly. Barty said he’d save me a seat, I shouldn’t make him wait.”

“Crouch seems nice. Did you know each other before coming to Hogwarts?”

Regulus shook his head. “No. He ran over me trying to catch his rat at Hogsmeade station.”

Capella’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I’ve never understood why anyone would choose to bring a rat when other students have cats. I myself have one and I’ve had to keep him from eating Anushka Patil’s rat twice since arriving. She’s shouted at poor Patroclus for something that’s hardly his fault. Cats eat rats, that’s just life.”

“Your cat’s name is Patroclus?”

Capella shrugged. “Addie named hers Achilles. I thought I’d continue the theme.”

“Are you and your sister close?” Regulus spared a glance at her as they rounded the corner.

Capella grimaced. “You could say that. We’re in a bit of a row at the moment. But most of the time, we’re quite close.”

“Do you mind if I ask what you’re rowing over? I don’t mean to intrude, my brother and I argue all the time, so I understand.”

Capella bit the inside of her cheek. “My father gave me the option to go to Beauxbatons or Hogwarts. Come to think of it, if his letter’s anything to go by, I wonder that he gave me a choice at all.” She frowned, brow furrowing in thought. “My sister wanted me to pick Beauxbatons. That’s where she wants to go and she wanted us to be in school together, but I picked Hogwarts.”

“Why?”

Capella’s lips pursed. “It’s difficult to explain. In short, Vivia told me I should.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Do you always do what she tells you?”

“What?” Capella eyes narrowed sharply, once again conjuring the image of his mother. “Of course not, I make my own choices. Vivia…just has a tendency to be right about things.”

Now it was Regulus’ turn to be confused. “What do you mean?” Capella mumbled something, pink tinging her cheeks. Regulus squinted. “Could you repeat that?”

“She read a tarot spread for me,” she said, only slightly louder. “It suggested if I broke away from expectations, I’d find a more enriching life. I was expected to attend Beauxbatons, so I chose to go to Hogwarts.” Her expression was reminiscent of that wet cat look Sirius often got when irritated. Regulus realized belatedly he was grinning.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you,” he said. “I just wouldn’t have pegged you as superstitious.”

“It’s not completely outrageous,” Capella muttered, still looking a little put out. “Her mother’s Pythia Vablatsky. The sight runs in that family and Vivia’s never been wrong when it comes to the cards. I thought they were rubbish too until after the first few times she read for me.”

“That’s another thing,” said Regulus, thinking back to the deck of cards Genoveva had been shuffling in class. “I wouldn’t have expected Ollivander to read tarot. She seems too fidgety to be a seer.”

“Ask her to give you a reading sometime,” Capella said with a shrug. “Even if you think it’s ridiculous, it’s still interesting to watch her.”

“Next time I see her,” he promised as they approached the great hall’s massive oak doors. “On that note, I suppose I’ll see you later.”

She stopped him before he could enter the hall. “Vivia and I made plans to compare notes in the library after dinner. You and Crouch are welcome to join us.”

Regulus blinked, then smiled at his luck. He’d found not one, but two Ravenclaws to study with. And on his first day too. “I’ll talk to Barty,” he said. “But I see no reason we couldn’t.”

She nodded, looking pleased and stuck her hand out. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Black.”

He shook her hand twice, firmly. Her hand is warm and he can feel distinct callouses on her fingertips. “The pleasure is all mine. And please, call me Regulus. It’s strange if we’re both calling each other Black.”

“Regulus it is,” she said with a grin, the subtle lilt to her voice drawing out the vowels. “You can call me Capella.”

“Capella it is then,” he said. “Don’t forget the names. If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll pick them up this evening.”

She smiled and nodded before stepping through the doors of the great hall towards the Ravenclaw table. “I’ll have it ready. See you around.”

Regulus nodded and walked the other way to the table of Slytherin green.

\---

The rest of the day passed uneventfully until after dinner where, after nearly half an hour of navigating the library’s book cases and odd nooks and crannies, Regulus and Barty found the girls at a table tucked behind a shelf of thick transfiguration texts. Despite the three empty chairs, Capella sat cross-legged on the floor with an open book and several sheets of parchment laid out before her. An arm braced on her knee supported her head and her back was flush with the legs of her cousin’s chair. Similarly to Capella, Genoveva’s attention was fixed on an open book. Off to the side, she absentmindedly shuffled the deck of cards from class.

“Ollivander, Black.” The two looked up at Barty’s greeting as he and Regulus claimed two of the empty chairs.

“We were wondering if you’d make it,” Genoveva said with a smile, rapping the cards on the table twice to straighten them before setting them aside. “We were about to start without you.”

Barty rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, the library was bigger than we expected. It was hard to find you.” He pointed to the cards, looking glad to direct attention away from their lack of punctuality. “I meant to ask earlier, what are those for?”

Now it was Genoveva’s turn to look sheepish. “It’s a nervous habit I got into a year or two ago,” she began, reaching to pick the cards up again. “I’m a tad fidgety and it gives me something to do with my hands. Helps me focus.” She gave the cards another shuffle as if to punctuate the statement.

Regulus remembered the way her knee had bounced all throughout charms class. Sirius was much the same way. Perhaps he should get his brother a deck of cards. The image of Sirius accidentally scattering thick rectangles of cardstock over McGonagall’s classroom rose to mind and he immediately dismissed the thought. As Genoveva set the cards down again, the bottom card caught his eye. A lovingly detailed image of a man walking near the edge of a cliff with his face lifted to the sky covered its surface.

“Capella mentioned you read tarot,” he said, gesturing to the cards. Genoveva blinked, likely at his new use of her cousin’s first name. She recovered and shot her cousin a hard look, to which Capella paid no attention.

Sighing, Genoveva looked back to Regulus and Barty. “It’s just a hobby,” she said, crimson dusting her cheeks. “It’s not like my predictions come true or anything.”

Regulus wondered if she knew Capella thought otherwise. He peered curiously at the tarot deck again. He’d never seen one before. His parents had always dismissed divination as something foolish and silly, scoffing at any mention of fortune telling and prophecies.

“You should read for Regulus,” piped Capella from the floor. Regulus turned to see the dark-haired girl looking at him. “He’s never had a reading before.”

Regulus fought the urge to frown. So much for asking himself.

A new flush of red covered Genoveva’s cheeks. “Ella, that’s— “

“Sure,” Regulus said with a shrug. Capella climbed up into a chair, nudging her cousin as she sat.

“Ok, um.” Genoveva looked between Regulus and Capella before hesitantly pushing the cards towards Regulus. “Shuffle them. To suffuse them with your energy. Otherwise the cards will read for me. Think of a question you want answered.”

Regulus picked up the deck and split it, feeling the card stock flick over his fingers as he bent it back and shuffled. As he split the deck again and repeated the process, he wondered what he could possibly want answered. From the little he could recall about tarot, the cards couldn’t answer something as specific as what Capella’s relation to his family was and he was pleased with how school was going, so there weren’t any questions there. Rather lamely, he thought _what happens next?_

“That should be enough,” said Genoveva. She was looking at the cards, but her gaze seemed distant. Was this what Capella had meant when she’d said it was interesting to watch her do a reading? “Cut the deck and pass it back.” Regulus cut the deck in two and slid it halfway across the table where she picked it up, her movements lacking the restless energy from earlier. From the top, she dealt seven cards, placing them face down in the shape of a pyramid.

Setting the rest of the deck aside, she turned back to Regulus, placing a finger on the first card. “This represents the past.”

She turned it over, revealing the image of a robed woman shown in profile. She was seated on a throne, a gold grown perched on her head. The image was right side up for Regulus, making it upside down for Genoveva.

“The empress, reversed. Normally the empress represents the virtues of family and home life. She’s warm, nurturing, generous and generally suggests comfort and security. But since she’s reversed, the strengths of the empress become her weaknesses. She becomes smothering and controlling, which could take on a number of forms but usually centers around the home.”

“What’s your best guess?” Regulus asked, frowning at the regal looking woman.

Genoveva tilted her head. “Hm. The emperor and empress represent the mother and father respectively within the major arcana. My first instinct is that there’s some sort of tension surrounding your relationship with your mother, but I could be wrong.”

Without giving Regulus time to process the prediction, she turned the next card, revealing a hooded figure holding a golden wheel. “The wheel of fortune. You’ve experienced sudden and unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome change.”

Regulus glanced at Capella, who was looking at the cards in interest. Sudden and unexpected? Certainly. The last thing he’d expected when coming to Hogwarts was to meet a previously unknown possible relative. Not that he was complaining. Nothing was more important than family.

Genoveva turned the fourth card showing a girl stranded in a field, bound in heavy shipyard chains. Several birds flew around her, pecking at her eyes. “The eight of swords. That’s interesting.”

“What does it mean?” Regulus asked, studying the girl’s painted face.

“The third card represents important future events and the eight of swords suggests something will make you feel trapped. You’re pulled in so many different directions you don’t know which to choose and that ignites feelings of panic and anxiety.”

“Delightful,” Regulus said drily before pointing to the next card in the spread. “What about that one?”

“The fourth card offers advice,” she said, flipping the card at the top of the pyramid to reveal a girl standing beside a lion, her hand resting on its head. “Strength. Whatever trial you encounter, you should turn to your conscience for guidance. You will need courage, determination, and patience to see yourself through it unscathed.”

That sounded more like a Sirius thing. Regulus wasn’t good with conflict, especially if conceding his point was the easiest route to avoiding an argument. Not that he was a complete pushover, he just valued his peace.

She flipped the next card to show a young boy holding a staff. “The page of wands. This card represents important people in your life. This person is talkative and enthusiastic. You enjoy their company.” A small smile quirked her lips. “They’re likely a writer.”

“I don’t think I know a writer,” said Regulus.

Genoveva shrugged, placing a hand on the sixth card. “Perhaps you haven’t met them yet. The next card represents obstacles.”

A creature with the torso of a man and the legs of a goat decorated the card’s front. Long horns curled from its head and it held the chains of a shackled man and woman. “The devil. Something will tempt you to stray from your goals. Refuse it, no matter how appealing it may seem.”

Well that was ominous. “And the last one?” Regulus asked, eyebrow raised.

He regretted asking as the unmistakable silhouette of a grim reaper appeared, standing at the edge of a cliff over a stormy sea.

“Uh.” Barty gave his friend a concerned look. “Is that—”

Genoveva waved him off. “Yes, that’s the death card, but it doesn’t always mean literal death.”

The table’s three other occupants blinked at her. “And it means…” Regulus prompted.

“Oh,” she said. “Death is the card of change. The outcome you reach will be a change from which you can’t return.”

“That still doesn’t sound good,” Barty pointed out.

Genoveva shrugged. “It might not be. But change is an unavoidable part of life.” She gave Regulus a reassuring smile. “Besides, something tells me this change will be important.”

Regulus nodded slowly, taking in the words. She gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t take it too seriously. They’re just cards and it’s not like the reading came from Professor Trelawney or anything.”

Regulus nods again, but the words don’t really reassure him. The bush of something against his fingers draws him back to the present and he sees a square piece of parchment with four lines of writing.

_Mirach Dorian Black_

_Galatea Ollivander Black_

_Capella Marielle Black_

_Adhara Cassiopeia Black_

Genoveva peers quizzically at the parchment. “Why are you giving him your family’s names?”

Capella pulled her book off the floor and opened it, shrugging. “He’s going to write his father about possible relations.”

Genoveva looks hesitant. “Do you think that’s wise? Asking Black about it at school is fine, but if it leaves the school and gets back to Uncle Mirach—”

“He’ll be angry and possibly send me off to France.” Capella turns her page, eyes flicking up to her cousin. “The possibility of him actually finding out is minimal and the reward is worth it.” She shoots Genoveva a small grin. “I’m taking a calculated risk.”

Barty chuckles. “Let’s hope you’re good at maths then.”

“Oi, Ollivander!” The three at the table turn to see a boy with messy hair and an untied red and gold tie waving at them as he strides towards them with a slight swagger in his step. Regulus immediately dislikes him. The boy’s smile dims a bit as he catches sight of the two green ties at the table, but he ignores them in favor of turning to Genoveva, who jumps up from her seat to meet him, nearly bouncing with excitement.

“Did you hear back already?” At the boy’s nod, her face lights up. “Well spit it out, what did she say, what did she say?"

His grin broadens “Mum says she can owl it in by tomorrow.”

“Yes!” Genoveva turns back to the table and pulls a reluctant Capella into a hug. Despite her cousin’s attempts to push her away, her victorious expression doesn’t fade. She eventually releases Capella back to her chair when she turns to give the boy a high five. “We have a violist!”

“Of course he plays viola,” Regulus mutters under his breath. The boy scowls, then startles as Capella breaks into laughter.

“Ella, that’s not nice,” Genoveva scolds half-heartedly, though her excitement from earlier doesn’t fade.

Capella gives a shrug, still grinning. “It’s not my fault violins are objectively better.”

The boy’s scowl returns. “Hey—”

“She’s not completely wrong,” Regulus says, not exactly sure why he’s butting into what’s certain to become an argument but finding he doesn’t really care. If he’d learned anything from the time Andromeda spent playing viola, it was that violists, regardless of skill, were destined to take the brunt of all string jokes and must be made fun of at every opportunity. “The instrument has no standardized size, it has very little repertoire, it’s awkward to play because it's so large, and in my experience, violists are the ones most likely to be out of tune.”

“You trying to pick—”

“Not to say violists are strictly bad. It’s not an easy instrument to play,” Regulus says. He looks the boy in the eye. “I just don’t understand why anyone would choose to play viola when just about any other string instrument sounds better.”

Capella snickers behind him as the Gryffindor boy glowers at him. “In your experience, huh? And what experience would that be?”

Regulus feels the faintest of smirks curl at his lips. Is this boy daft? The fact that he knows about and can explain a community joke should be enough to suggest he probably plays a string instrument. “I play cello,” he says raising an eyebrow. “You know, the instrument with the C string that actually works.”

Capella starts to laugh again and Regulus finds he doesn’t mind the sound. It’s not a barking laugh like Sirius’ or shrill and abrasive like Bellatrix’s, but quiet and warm like his grandfather’s and aunt Cassiopeia’s.

The two of them would probably like her. The boy’s glower doesn’t fade, but he’s forced to back up as Genoveva descends on Regulus like a starving eagle. “You play cello?”

Stunned, he nods.

“Can you have your instrument mailed here?”

“I brought it with me, it’s—”

Genoveva pulls her cousin out of her chair again, her expression one of pure elation. “Ella, we have a cellist!”

Regulus blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Him?” The Gryffindor boy says incredulously, pointing at Regulus.

“You can’t have a quartet without a cellist,” Genoveva says pointedly. There’s a skip in her step as she shoves books, quills, and loose parchment into her arms. “This is amazing! I have to go tell Professor Flitwick!”

Regulus stands from his chair, brow furrowed. “Wait a moment, I haven’t—” Genoveva’s already disappeared behind a bookcase. He turns to Capella. “What is she signing me up for?”

“String quartet,” Capella says, a slight grin still on her face as she turns back to her book. “Vivia and I play violin. She asked Professor Flitwick if he would teach a string quartet if we managed to find a cellist and a violist. I’ll tell her no if you don’t want to join.”

Regulus searches for a reason to refuse and finds he can’t come up with an excuse besides ‘It would be troublesome’. He likes cello, he promised his grandfather he’d practice, and he’s been handed an opportunity on a silver platter. “I suppose it’s fine,” he mutters, glancing to the Gryffindor boy who’s giving him some serious side eye. Regulus takes a breath and molds his expression to the polite smile he gives his father’s business partners.

“Apologies for dismissing your instrument, I’d assumed you’d be used to viola jokes by now.” He sticks out his hand. “Regulus Black, it’s nice to meet you.”

The boy stares at his hand like it’s a boa constrictor about to strike and wrap around his throat before shaking it warily. “Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he says simply.

Regulus nods. He might be a Gryffindor, but at least he’s a pure blood.

“We’re studying,” Capella says, tapping her book. “You’re welcome to join if you like, but it’ll boring since you learned everything we’re doing last year.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. So, he’s a second year. Perhaps he knows Sirius.

“I’ll pass,” says the Gryffindor, eyes flicking to Regulus and Barty. Ah, he didn’t want to be seen with Slytherins. It was common knowledge that Slytherin and Gryffindor didn't get along, but Regulus hadn't thought it ran so deep. Still, he couldn't fault Shacklebolt for worrying about his reputation.

Capella shrugs, though from the way her eyes narrow slightly at the Gryffindor, he doesn’t think she’s ignorant of the reason her invitation was declined. “Very well. Vivia or I will find you when our first rehearsal is scheduled. We’ll likely only be looking at music the first meeting, so if your mother needs more time to owl in your instrument, that should be fine.”

Shacklebolt nods. “Sounds fine, I’ll see you then. Take care, Black.”

“Will do,” Capella and Regulus both say before looking at each other in surprise. Regulus had answered out of habit, even though it’s clear the Gryffindor hadn’t meant him.

Before he can feel embarrassed, Capella laughs softly and says “Call me Capella. Save Black for this one and his brother. It’ll be less confusing.”

Schacklebolt nods. “Alright then. See you later.” Then the second year turns down the row of book cases Genoveva had passed through earlier.

“Charming fellow,” Barty mutters. “You’d think he’d tolerate you more, considering he’s in the same year and house as your brother.”

Regulus shrugs. “Sirius has a habit of disturbing others. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s gotten on his nerves.”

“As interesting as your brother sounds,” Capella says. “The library closes in an hour. Shouldn’t we review before tomorrow?”

Barty sits up straight and pulls out his notes. “Of course. What are we starting with?”

“I believe I’m prepared for charms,” she says, glancing between the two Slytherins. “Unless either of you need a review of the wand movement or incantation?”

Barty grimaces. “I’ll remember that until the day I die. Transfiguration?”

“Sounds good,” says Regulus.

“Alright,” says Capella, turning to a sheet of parchment covered in even rows of illegible cursive. “What are the five tenants of inanimate magical theory?”

\---

_Father,_

_Good evening, I hope all is well at home with you, mother, and Kreacher. School has started off remarkably well. I feel quite confident about my future performance in classes and have met several other respectable students with whom I feel I can associate, many of which are the boys with whom I share a dorm. I suspect you had a hand in such an arrangement, so I thank you for that. I have also been invited to join a string quartet taught by Professor Flitwick. The violist is a Gryffindor in Sirius’ year and the first and second violinists are both first year Ravenclaws, all three of which are in good standing. It has likely already come to your attention that I have included a list of names with my letter. I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but something very curious occurred at this year’s sorting ceremony. There is a Ravenclaw girl, one of the violinists I mentioned previously, by the name of Capella Black. Her mother is an Ollivander, likely why she sorted to Ravenclaw, but her father is a Frenchman by the name of Mirach Black. Naturally, the circumstances of her name, her parentage, and her father’s origins seem too much a coincidence for there to be no relation at all, but. I cannot think of any family with such names. I was hoping you might have information I do not. Please respond at your earliest convenience._

_Best regards, Regulus Arcturus Black_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I realized after posting the writing changes about halfway through from past to present tense (it's been a hot minute since I've worked on this fic and my writing style has changed a bit). Is one better than the other? Please feel free to tell me what you did and didn't like and how I can make this story better for you. I love criticism that helps me become a better writer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one. All pieces mentioned in this chapter are linked at the end. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Music disclaimer (lingling insurance if you watch twoset): I played violin in middle school but stopped in high school and I never played anything more difficult than Bach Minuet no. 3 well. I realize the Bach Sonata is probably a bit more advanced than Capella would play but I love the piece so sue me. I don’t have a clue about the difficulty of viola or cello repertoire so everything you see related to those came courtesy of the string teachers of reddit.

It was two days before Regulus received a response from his father. Two days of learning his roommates were more amusing than he’d first thought, two evening revision sessions where he discovered Capella’s study habits were just as brutal as her honesty, and forty-eight hours where he never once worried he wouldn’t find a place among his classmates. He was currently sitting next to Barty at breakfast, grimacing at the staggering amount of butter Rosier was heaping into his porridge. For someone so slight, he ate almost as much as Crabbe. The screech of an owl signaled the arrival of the morning mail, startling Selwyn who had looked seconds away from falling asleep in his own porridge.

“Say, Black,” Crabbe said, squinting into the rafters. “Is that your owl?”

Regulus looked up, scanning the multitude of owls swarming the ceiling for Pygmalion’s dark wings. Almost in answer, an envelope landed to the side of his plate.

“What is it?” asked Barty. It seemed he was following Capella’s example, because for the past two days, he’d been reading a book she’d lent him from the Ravenclaw community shelf. It wasn’t a title he knew and he was half tempted to ask if he could borrow it after Barty was finished. Regulus recognized smooth curves of his father’s hand-writing and flipped the envelope over, tearing through the black wax seal.

“My father responded to my letter,” he said, pulling the crème colored stationary from its confines, silently relishing the faint musk of his father’s pipe tobacco clinging to the thick parchment.

_Regulus,_

_Thank you for your letter. I’m as well as you last saw, however your mother has fallen to another bout of melancholy as of late. She’s not left her rooms since we sent you and your brother off and she quite enjoyed hearing from you. Perhaps write her as well the next time you send news home._

Regulus frowned. It wasn’t uncommon for his mother to remain confined to her bedchamber when struck irregularly by melancholic moods, but this was the first time Regulus hadn’t been there to read her the _Prophet_ or make sure Kreacher brought her tea or soup, though she rarely bothered with food or drink on those days. Hopefully the house elf remembered to try to get his mistress to eat something.

_We’re both pleased you’re enjoying your classes and even more pleased you’ve found good friends. As for your roommates, it was no trouble at all. Their fathers are all associates of mine and we thought it best you got to know one another as you’ll be working together in the future. You should write your grandfather and Aunt Cassiopeia about the string quartet, they will be happy to know you’re keeping up with your music lessons. I expect you will be surprised to hear yours is not the first inquiry I’ve received regarding Capella Black, nor is it the second. Imagine my surprise when the evening you and Sirius arrived at Hogwarts, I received a letter from your brother asking about a cousin by the name of Capella. Granted, his letter was far shorter, more a note than a proper letter, and left me with not the faintest idea of his meaning._

Regulus felt a smile quirk his lips. Regulus himself had received perhaps a total of thirty letters from Sirius last year, each one shorter than the last and most sent before the Christmas holidays. His parents, on the other hand, had received only six between the two of them, none longer than a page except the two written as a punishment for some childish prank or another. Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if the note hadn’t been longer than “ _Father, do we have a cousin named Capella? – S.O.B_ ”. Thinking back to how Sirius was usually treated at family functions, he was likely eager to have a cousin who hadn’t sorted to Slytherin.

_Your Aunt Druella came for tea with your mother the next morning. Apparently, she’d had a letter from Narcissa posing the same question as your brother. As far as an answer, I regret to say, even after consulting family records, letters, and both of your grandfathers, that I haven’t an idea to the identities of Capella Black, nor any of the family she lists is. An inquiry at the ministry provided no further information than both of her parents’ positions as unspeakables, rendering their information inaccessible to all but the minister. I agree her name and origins are too similar to our own to be coincidental, but I’ve no knowledge of the matter beyond that. Your mother asks after her appearance and behavior or, in her words, does she “look like a Black”. While not an infallible way to deduce heritage, this isn’t necessarily irrelevant considering our family’s genetic precedent._

Regulus thought a moment. It was true the Black family favored one another. They all had dark hair and grey eyes and a certain sharpness to their facial structures with a few notable exceptions like the blonde Narcissa. Regulus’ gaze flicked to the combed mop of ash blond hair on Evan’s head. No doubt that was something Narcissa inherited from her Rosier mother. He looked across the room to the Ravenclaw table and found Capella after a moment of picking through the surprising number of blue tied students reading as they ate. Now that he gave it some thought, he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. The thick black curls straining against the clip holding them out of her face were a perfect match to the childhood pictures of Bellatrix, his mother, his great aunts, and pretty much any woman from his mother’s side of the family. Her grey eyes might be a touch more green than his or Sirius’, but they were definitely still grey and she had sharp cheekbones, like Regulus’ mother. Related or not, she certainly looked like a Black.

_If possible, I would be interested in a more detailed lineage going back to at least her great grandparents. Also, though I’m sure you already treat her with the respect befitting a pureblood witch, I want to impress upon you the importance of doing so. A possible connection to the family monopolizing the wand industry in Britain is no small matter. Should it be revealed her family is legitimately related to our own, it would be of the upmost importance to assimilate their branch into Black family matters as soon as possible. I’ve sent a letter encouraging your brother to get to know her, as I’m sure Cygnus has to Narcissa. Until otherwise proven, treat her as you would family._

_With regards, Orion L. Black_

_P.S. Your mother requests. that you and Sirius to come home for tea Saturday afternoon. I’ve already arranged a floo network connection with your respective heads of house. Any friends you choose to invite are welcome._

That in and of itself wasn’t a request. His parents wanted to meet Capella and had given him the task of convincing her to accept the invitation. He was suddenly reminded of their study session from Monday. Mirach Black’s odd insistence upon his daughter not interacting with Regulus and Genoveva’s worries that he’d transfer Capella to Beauxbatons if he learned she’d disobeyed him were still fresh in his mind. Would she risk it? Should he ask her to?

“Any news?” Barty asked, glancing up from his book. Crabbe and Rosier had paused their conversation and even Selwyn looked decidedly more awake at the prospect of finally settling the Capella debate.

Regulus shook his head and the four seemed to let out a collective disappointed sigh. “My father can’t find any mention of them in family records and her parents are unspeakables, so their personal information is completely barred to the public. I’m surprised he even managed to get the ministry to admit they’re unspeakables.”

“What does an unspeakable even do?” Evan asked, frowning as Selwyn tiredly reached for the tin of salt as he prepared what was at least his fourth cup of tea. The blond boy quickly exchanged it for sugar. One thing Regulus had learned since the first night was that Selwyn didn’t turn in early strictly because he wanted to be rested for morning classes, though that was a part of it. The chestnut-haired boy was quite simply always exhausted, especially in the mornings where he never spoke a word until after his second cup of tea at the least. Evan patted his shoulder sympathetically as he grunted out his thanks. “My father handles a lot of the ministry’s financials and apparently an absurd amount of the budget goes to the department of mysteries. What on earth do they use it for?”

“Hazard pay has got to be part of it,” said Barty, flipping a page in his borrowed book. He paused a moment, chewing on his lip in the way Regulus now knew meant he was thinking. “Probably employee privacy too. The department of mysteries researches all sorts of unstable magic. My father says unspeakables are so protected because of the accidents that happen. No one wants a job where something out of their control sends vengeful wizards after their families. It must cost quite a bit keeping their personal information classified.”

“How does your father know that?” asked Crabbe, shoveling a bite of porridge that, like Evan’s, was half butter into his mouth. How did they eat that? Just the sight was enough to make Regulus queasy.

“He’s head of magical law enforcement,” Barty responded, apparently resigning himself to being dragged into the conversation as he shut his book. Regulus made a mental note as he caught the author’s name to ask Capella what kind of literature this Jane Austen wrote and if she thought _Pride and Prejudice_ would be something he’d enjoy.

“Isn’t the department of mysteries independent of magical law enforcement?” Selwyn grumbled, eyes surprisingly alert.

Barty shrugged and reached across the table to push Selwyn’s bowl of probably cold porridge towards him as a reminder to hurry up and eat so he wasn’t going to class on only a few cups of tea. “If you were head of magical law enforcement, wouldn’t you want to keep tabs on the one department working outside the law to make sure they weren’t abusing their freedom?”

Before Selwyn could answer, there was a cheerful call of “Good morning, Black!”

Regulus turned to see Genoveva approaching their group, drawing a few curious glances from other Slytherins.

“Ollivander,” he greeted. “Is everything alright?”

“Perfect,” she said with a grin. “Professor Flitwick wants us to stay after charms this afternoon for an initial meeting. He wants to get a sense of how advanced everyone is so he knows what kind of music to assign us. He asked that Ella or I bring a violin so he can decide which of us will play first and second, but I don’t think you need to bring your cello.”

Regulus nodded, ignoring the collective eye roll his roommates gave at the word cello. He’d practiced for at least an hour every day and after the initial curiosity had faded, no one but Barty had bothered to hide their disdain for an hour of the same piece played repeatedly. “I can do that,” he said.

Genoveva brightened. “Wonderful! Ella and I will see you in charms then.” She turned to the rest of their group. “Best of luck to you all today, have a nice morning!” They gave her a mix of polite nods and ‘you too’s as she went back to her seat by Capella at the Ravenclaw table.

“She’s so kind,” Crabbe said with unusual sincerity, his beady eyes unusually thoughtful as he watched Genoveva chatter to her cousin, who nodded intermittently as she read. Regulus had no doubt Capella heard every word despite her apparent disinterest. Then Crabbe’s words sunk in and he joined his other roommates in giving the larger boy a look that was equal parts confused as it was surprised. Crabbe turned back to his porridge, oblivious to everyone’s stares.

Regulus shared a look with Barty before shrugging and draining the milky dregs of his tea. The taste wasn’t anything like the Darjeeling or Ceylon he would’ve had at home, but it was better than nothing. Crabbe hadn’t shown any interest in love or romance or whatever this was in the past two days, but then again, it had only been two days. An observant person could learn a lot in such a short amount of time, but it was impossible to know everything. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. If Gustav Crabbe was the most socially inept person he’d ever met, Genoveva Ollivander was the one of the most adept, despite being a bit scatterbrained about it. Where Crabbe needed a nudge to realize a classmate had asked him something and a reminder to thank the teachers after class, Genoveva was constantly wringing responses out of Capella in social situations. Not that Capella wasn’t aware of what she was doing, she just never did anything she didn’t want to. The two would probably be good for each other, as friends if nothing else.

“What’re your thoughts on tarot?” Regulus asked, leaning over and checking Barty’s watch to see if he had time for another cup of tea.

“Tarot?” Crabbe asked, blinking incomprehensively at Regulus.

Regulus filled his cup and added a splash of milk, trying not to grimace at the strong smell of over steeped tea. “The branch of divination that uses tarot cards. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

Crabbe made a confused face. “Yeah, but divination’s not real magic is it?”

Regulus shrugged. “Real seers are rare and divination isn’t a precise branch of magic, but occasionally you get something legitimate. Capella seems to think Ollivander is genuine.” He took a sip from his cup, relishing the near scalding heat of the beverage. “She reads tarot. You should ask her for a reading sometime.”

“But if seers are so rare, how does Black know she’s the real deal?” Crabbe’s expression had turned skeptical.

“She doesn’t know for certain,” Regulus said, shrugging again. “Ollivander insists she’s not and that tarot is just a silly hobby, but Capella gave me convincing evidence that she could be legitimate.”

“Her mother is Pythia Vablatsky,” Barty clarified. “That makes her the granddaughter of Cassandra Vablatsky, who was supposedly an actual seer. Aptitude for divination tends to be inherited, so it’s not unfathomable that she could have the sight.”

Crabbe gave a thoughtful nod. “I’ll ask her then. I’ve never seen tarot cards before.”

“Neither had I,” Barty said with a nervous chuckle. “The reading she did for Regulus was a little…unnerving.”

Evan frowned, passing the near empty teapot back to Selwyn. “How so?”

Regulus sighed, giving Barty a look he hoped conveyed ‘Why did you have to say that?’. “I pulled the death card,” he said, blinking as his roommates, even Selwyn, gave him matching looks of horror. Regulus shoved down the urge to scowl. “Don’t look at me like there’s a grim sitting on my feet. Ollivander said the death card only means inevitable change is coming. It could be referring to my starting at Hogwarts for all I know. It doesn’t mean I’m destined to die young in an unspeakable manner.”

“She said it didn’t always mean death, not that it didn’t mean death at all,” Barty pointed out, popping an apple slice into his mouth with a loud crunch.

This time Regulus did scowl. “Are you so eager to be rid of me? What unforgivable crime have I committed for you to want me dead?”

“Playing that bloody instrument at six in the morning, that’s what,” Selwyn muttered.

Rosier laughed. “Careful Black, someone’s going to come after your throat if you keep waking them up early.”

Before Regulus can answer, McGonagall stands and draws their attention with a flash of sparks. “Ten minutes until first block!”

Regulus drains his cup and stands. “Or perhaps McGonagall will turn us all to parlor chairs when we’re late to class. Let’s go.”

\---

Regulus is paired with Crabbe for potions that day. This is both fortunate and irritating. It’s fortunate because it takes little convincing for Crabbe to let him do most of the work. It’s irritating because he has to do most of the work. They’re making forgetfulness potions that day and even though Regulus committed the instructions to memory the night before, courtesy of Capella’s borderline mad obsession with total memorization of all information, it’s a potion requiring very specific, very time-consuming preparation of all ingredients that would be so much easier to do with two people. The only problem with that is that Crabbe’s large hands are rather clumsy and Regulus doesn’t trust them to hold a knife, much less determine any part of his grade. So Crabbe stirs while Regulus clambers like a madman to dice, cube, crush, and pulverize their ingredients as precisely and as quickly as possible. He’s red in the face and breathing heavily when they finally hand in a sample of their potion.

Slughorn practically beams when he observes the potion’s pristine white color and water like consistency. “Marvelous,” he holds the vial up for the class to see. “Mr. Black and Mr. Crabbe have done it! Look at the color. It’s a perfect example of what a forgetfulness potion should look like.” He turns back to the boys. “Well done, ten points each.”

Crabbe slaps him on the back, nearly sending Regulus to the floor. The larger boy grins, holding up a hand for a high five. Regulus reluctantly complies before returning to their work space to pack up.

“Mr. Black,” Slughorn calls. Regulus looks up to see the professor examining him with an intrigued look and with a look as calculating as that, Regulus can almost see how the man was a Slytherin. “Might I speak with you after class?”

Regulus nods, hefting his bag over his shoulder and approaching the teacher as students exit the classroom. As the door closes, leaving them alone in the classroom, Slughorn beckons him over to a wall of framed photographs.

“Did you know I taught your mother?” He says, smiling nostalgically as he points to a figure in one of the first photographs on the wall. Regulus nods, craning his neck to look at the teenager with dark curls and a neutral expression sitting at a well-dressed dining table with a group of other students.

“One of the brightest students I ever had the pleasure of teaching,” the professor says. “You remind me a lot of her.”

Regulus blinks at that. Sirius was always the one people compared to their mother. They had the same hot tempers and stubborn wills that more often than not caused them to butt heads. Regulus was quieter, more passive like their father.

“You would be one of the first to say that,” Regulus says, not sure what else to say.

Slughorn chuckles. “I admit, your brother takes after her temperament more, but he doesn’t have the aptitude for potions she did. Even in her first year she never encountered an obstacle she couldn’t overcome when it came to potions. By her second year she refused to work with a partner because she didn’t want anyone to slow her down.” He chuckled at the recollection and turned back to Regulus. “It didn’t escape my notice that Mr. Crabbe did very little of the work today. That wouldn’t have been your intent, would it?”

Regulus felt his face flush. “My apologies professor. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m not upset, dear boy,” Slughorn said with a laugh. “Merely impressed you were able to do it all on your own.” The professor gestured to the picture once more.

“Occasionally I host dinner parties for students who show exceptional ability in potions, so I might get to know them better. I’m hosting one such event next Sunday, would you be interested in attending? I believe your cousin will be there as well.”

Regulus blinked, then nodded, more at the idea of getting to talk to Narcissa for more than a passing greeting than sitting in what’s likely a group of pretentious Slytherins and over eager Ravenclaws. “That sounds lovely, thank you for inviting me. Is there a dress code?”

Professor Slughorn laughed. “Nothing too formal, Mr. Black. Dress as though you were eating at home with your family.” The professor pulled out a pocket watch as he ushered Regulus towards the door. “I think I’ve kept you long enough. You don’t want to be late for your next class now do you?”

“No sir,” Regulus said, hurrying out of the classroom. “Thank you professor.”

\---

Normally, Regulus had no issues focusing in charms, but the sight of Genoveva’s instrument case was enough to make his fingers itch, subdued only slightly as he began tapping out the fingering for the last piece grandfather gave him to practice. Halfway through the lesson, Capella gives him a knowing look, watching his hand shake as he pins his finger against an invisible string for vibrato. Then she shuts her book and begins tapping the fingering for a piece of her own and Regulus entertains himself with attempting to guess the composer, if not the piece itself. A minute later, Genoveva has joined the game as they pass around a sheet of parchment covered in the names of the composers they think wrote the piece the other is fingering on the desk. As Genoveva and Capella are the most familiar with pieces for violin, they’re able to read each other better, but the cello’s longer, more obvious shifts in hand position catch them off guard more often than not.

Their game gets more than a few odd looks from Crabbe, Rosier, and Barty, but eventually they must realize it’s a music thing and lose interest. Regulus has just raised an eyebrow as Capella taps out what appears to be a rather intricate cadenza (he’s thinking either Elgar or Beethoven) when someone clears their throat at the front of the room.

All three look up to see Flitwick giving them a stern look that turns out more amused than scolding. “As wonderful as it is to see the three of you excited for quartet this afternoon,” he says. “I would ask that you pay attention. You can give the class a performance another time.”

“Sorry professor,” Genoveva squeaks out, her face flushing a crimson so dark Regulus hopes it draws attention away from the embarrassment coloring his own cheeks. Capella is irritatingly unaffected.

“It won’t happen again,” she says, straight faced, not looking the slightest bit apologetic.

“I should hope not. I’d rather not take points,” he says with a small smile. “Now, Miss Black. Can you tell me the incantation for the silencing charm?”

“ _Muffliato_ ,” Capella says without hesitation. “It can be countered with _finite_.”

“Excellent,” says Flitwick, writing the incantations on the board. “Three points to Ravenclaw.”

Regulus notes the professor didn’t give her the customary five points per correct answer, likely due the distraction in which she was just involved. She gets a few hard looks from her fellow Ravenclaws, but her book is open again and the blatant animosity is below her notice.

The quarter hour until class dismisses to lunch drags on for what feels like hours and Regulus is surprised by how much he finds himself actually looking forward to the meeting. The few times he’s played in a quartet for family events, he’s loathed having to play with three other people, hating how he has to stop when he’s not the one who made the mistake or god forbid, having to play Pachelbel’s canon in D for a wedding. He’d played the miserable song at Bellatrix’s wedding when he was nine, not because he was a prodigy that mastered the cello after only a few years of learning, but because the cello part consisted entirely of the same eight notes played over and over again. He was so adamant in his hate of the piece that it was Sirius’ go to method of bothering Regulus whenever there was a piano in the near vicinity.

Class dismisses just as Regulus is about to start scowling at his memories of the borderline offensive work. Genoveva jumps from her seat with infectious excitement to move to the front of the room, only moving slowly enough to ensure her instrument case doesn’t hit any chairs or desks. Capella follows her but waits at the end of the row as Barty bids farewell to Regulus. They join Genoveva at the front as Shacklebolt uncomfortably shoulders his way through the group of first years chattering.

“Mr. Shacklebolt, thank you for joining us,” Flitwick says brightly. “Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

The Gryffindor sits next to Genoveva, as far as possible from Regulus.

“May I assume you all know each other?” Flitwick asks with a raised eyebrow. He receives four nods and an enthusiastic “Yes professor” from Genoveva.

“Lovely. Mr. Black, I assume you’re the cellist? I’ve spoken with Miss Ollivander, Miss Black, and Mr. Shacklebolt about the quartet already, but I’ve not gotten a chance to speak with you.”

“Yes professor,” Regulus says, eyeing the edge of a stack he recognizes as music scores hanging off the podium.

“Good,” Flitwick’s quill moves as he notes something on a piece of parchment. “Now before we move on to music and deciding first and second violin, I want to get a feel for what music you like and how much experience you have. We’ll begin with Miss Ollivander. How long have you played and what’s your favorite piece to?

Genoveva is practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve taken lessons since I was seven. I’d watched Ella play and I wanted to do it too, so my parents gave me a violin and lessons for my birthday.” She frowned before saying “It’s hard to pick a favorite piece, but I think I like the Handel sonata in D major best.”

Regulus nods approvingly at her choice. It’s elegant and peaceful to listen to without a staggering amount of showmanship. It’s pretty and he can see her liking it.

“A good choice,” says Flitwick, turning to Capella. “And you, Miss Black? Your cousin mentioned you started. learning before her?”

Capella nods. “I’ve been taking lessons from my grandfather since I was five. My favorite piece is Bach violin sonata no. 3 in C major.”

That surprises Regulus, though it really shouldn’t. Capella is observant and to the untrained ear, the sonata in question sounds deceptively simple, despite its use of chords and other techniques that, if done wrong, turn the piece into an auditory nightmare.

Flitwick gives an appreciative nod as he makes another note. “Also a good choice. What about you, Mr. Shacklebolt?”

“I started learning when I was eight. My mother taught me,” he says. “My favorite piece is Flackton’s Sonata for viola in C minor.”

Regulus isn’t surprised he doesn’t know the piece. He hadn’t been wrong when he said the viola had very little repertoire and he didn’t really trouble himself to learn beyond what was necessary about the viola.

Apparently if Flitwick had played a string instrument, it hadn’t been the viola. “I’ll have to look for it, I’m sure it’s lovely,” he says, then his gaze flicks to Regulus over his spectacles. “Mr. Black?”

“I’ve also played since I was five.” He gaze flicks to Capella who once again has that unreadable expression on her face before he looks back to Flitwick. “Also taught by my grandfather. My favorite piece is Brahms cello sonata in E minor.”

Flitwick raises an eyebrow as he makes more notes. “Impressive for someone your age.” He continues writing for a moment before setting the quill down and turning his attention to Genoveva and Capella. “I imagine the both of you have ideas about which of you should play first and second violin, but in the interest of making a decision with which the group is happy, I would like you both to play. Nothing too advanced, but a just a few bars of something you both know. I have music for a quartet you’ve probably both played if you’d rather do that.”

The cousins give each other a look before Capella shrugs. Genoveva looks back at Flitwick. “We’ll use the sheet music if you don’t mind.”

Regulus feels his nose wrinkle as Flitwick fishes two copies of the abhorrent canon in D from the stack of scores on the podium. Shacklebolt smirks beside him. “I think you’ve offended Black, professor.”

Now he’s flushed and glaring at Shacklebolt as Flitwick laughs. “It’s not very exciting, but it’ll be a good piece for you to learn to work with one another without worrying about new techniques and material.”

Regulus takes it all back. He wants out of the quartet. This isn’t going to be practice, it’s going to be hellish boredom.

Flitwick flips through the score as Genoveva fits her shoulder rest to her instrument and quickly checks it’s tuning. “Let’s try measures three through fifteen on the first violin part? I hope it’s not too awkward a stopping place. Remember, we’re in cut time. On my count, Miss Ollivander?”

Genoveva nods and adjusts the instrument beneath her chin as Flitwick keeps time, using his quill like a conductor’s baton. Genoveva is good. There are no obviously wrong notes, so she either has the piece memorized or sight reads very well and there are no obvious technical issues with her posture or bow hold. She lacks the easy grace with which his father plays, but that’s only natural since she hasn’t played as long. He claps politely with Flitwick, Shacklebolt, and Capella when she finishes. Genoveva gives a timid bow, smiling faintly before passing her instrument to her cousin.

“Lovely, Miss Ollivander. Whenever you’re ready, Miss Black.”

Capella frowns as she tucks the violin against her neck. “May I have a moment? Vivia’s chinrest sits a bit differently than mine.”

“Certainly,” Flitwick says, waving for her to go on. Capella adjusts the instrument on her shoulder and shifts her grip on the bow a few times before attempting a few partial scales. They sound fine to Regulus, but Capella adjusts the violin once more before trying another scale. Seemingly satisfied, she nods to Flitwick.

He raises his quill and gives her a two-bar lead in before she starts to play. Genoveva had been good, but Capella’s two extra years of practice are apparent. Her movements are cleaner and more fluid, decisive and intentional in a way achieved only through diligent practice. The way her piercing gaze rarely drifts from Flitwick gives him the feeling that she’s memorized the piece at some point in her life, which doesn’t surprise him given both the ridiculous popularity of the piece and Capella’s grueling study habits. If she’s ever had to play it, he was willing to bet she memorized both violin parts.

They clap politely when she finishes, as they had for Genoveva. “Well done, Miss Black,” Flitwick says, scribbling a note on his parchment as Capella bows stiffly. Genoveva shoots her a grin, which Capella returns hesitantly as she hands Genoveva the violin. Flitwick sets his quill down, calling the group’s attention again. “Would anyone like to share their thoughts?” Genoveva’s hand shoots up, but Flitwick calls on Shacklebolt.

“They’re both good,” he says, “but I think Black’s movements would be easier to take ques from. I think she should play first.”

Regulus nods. “I agree. They’re both proficient, but it’s clear Capella has more experience.”

Flitwick nods his understanding before turning back to the cousins. Genoveva’s hand had gone down. “Would either of you like to add anything?” Like before, the two share a look before shaking their heads. Flitwick beams and makes a note. “Glad we made a decision. Miss Black will play first and Miss Ollivander will play second. If either of you want to switch parts on a piece, let me know and we’ll try it out, but for now, let’s discuss music.”

He holds up two stacks of scores. “I want us first to try canon in D, just so you can adjust to playing with one another on a piece with which you’re all familiar.” Regulus scowls and turns his attention to the second score. “Once you’ve learned to follow one another, I’d like to try Purcell’s Chacony. Something technically easy to start off our new material. If you would, turn to the canon’s first page.”

He passes out the scores and Regulus glares at the lowest line, dominated completely by quarter notes. It’s in cut time too, making each note last twice as long. Eight notes repeated for the whole piece. Joyous.

“Have all of you played this before?” Flitwick asks, looking between all of them. All four of them nod, reactions ranging from eager, to indifferent, to sulky, to silently raging. Flitwick beams and Regulus is certain the short man finds some sort of sadistic satisfaction in saddling them with such a boring piece. “Wonderful, let’s go over it quickly, then I’ll release you to lunch. The cello begins the piece, that’s you Mr. Black, then the first violin, Miss Black, joins at the third—”

Regulus tunes out the charms professor and rests his head on his hand. His gaze flicks across the row to were Capella sits to find her giving him a small grin. She mimes bashing her head into the table, to which he responds by pretending to nod off. Suppressed laughter sparks in her eyes, reminding him of Aunt Cassiopeia when grandfather Arcturus complains about politics at the table. Her gaze flicks to the professor, who’s still squinting at his score, before tapping out the cadenza from their game in charms. He mouths _Elgar_ and she nods before gesturing for him to take his turn.

By the time Flitwick dismisses them, all four of them have played at least one round. Shacklebolt is irritatingly smug because no one could guess his viola concerto and Capella is less irritatingly smug because no one guessed she was tapping the fingering for Erlkönig.

“I can’t actually play it,” she says when they can finally talk in the hall. “I learned the rhythms and tried it a few months ago for fun, but I’m nowhere near advanced enough to actually play it. I don’t even know the fingering for the whole piece.”

“Still,” Shacklebolt says, eyebrow raised in a way that could be incredulous, impressed, or possibly both. “What kind of person just wakes up and decides to learn one of the most difficult pieces in their instrument’s repertoire?”

“I only spent a week or two messing with it,” she says. “It was a passing curiosity. I think your Telemann concerto was the more confusing of the two.”

Shacklebolt grins. “I figured it would be. He’s not one of the more well known composers like Bach or Beethoven.”

“Probably because he wrote a viola concerto,” Regulus mutters with a smirk. Without warning, he’s tucked under the violist’s arm and Shacklebolt’s knuckles are rubbing a hole in his skull.

“Aw, don’t hate on Telemann. Just because he didn’t write a concerto just for you doesn’t give you the right to ignore him.”

When Regulus finally wriggles away he gives Shacklebolt the darkest glower he can manage as he smooths his hair. Shacklebolt just gives him a look that to his horror is actually somewhat fond. Regulus moves to Capella’s other side.

“Sirius was right,” Shacklebolt says with a grin. “You’re all bark and no bite.”

Regulus ignores the probable insult and focuses on the first part of the boy’s words. “You know Sirius?”

“I share a room with him and his mates,” he says, a long-suffering smile quirking his lips.

Regulus looks the older boy up and down and decides there’s more to respect than he

originally thought. “You have my condolences. When he bothers you again, threaten to tell his friends about how he played dress up with Narcissa when they were little. Our mother still has pictures if he needs further incentive.”

Shacklebolt’s expression slackens, then turns positively gleeful. “Can I get the pictures anyway?”

Regulus nods solemnly and sticks out a hand. “I can have them to you next week.”

Shacklebolt shakes his hand firmly, grinning. “Much obliged, Black.”

The doors to the great hall loom up ahead, warmth and the mouthwatering scent of food greeting them. Shacklebolt waves as he starts towards the Gryffindor table but Genoveva puts a hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” Shacklebolt turns around as she faces the three of them. “Do you want to practice after classes today?”

Regulus is about to say he’d rather fight the nemean lion than practice canon in D when Shacklebolt shakes his head. “Can’t. Quidditch tryouts are this afternoon,” he says. Then his eyes brighten. “You guys should come watch. I know it’s not your house, but none of you have seen the quidditch pitch before right?” All three shake their heads. Shacklebolt grins. “It’s brilliant, you should come.”

Before Regulus can open his mouth to refuse, Genoveva beams and says “We’ll be there, right Ella?” She turns to her cousin as she says the last part. Capella gives a noncommittal shrug her cousin seems to take as agreement.

“You’re coming too, right Black?” All three are staring at him, two hopefully, the other curiously. He opens his mouth to decline again before Genoveva says “C’mon, it’ll be good quartet bonding.”

Regulus gives her a deadpan look, then looks to Capella, than to Shacklebolt. Merlin’s beard what is he doing. “Fine.”

Genoveva beams and Regulus wishes saying no didn’t feel like kicking a puppy. He sulks all the way to his spot at the Slytherin table.

Barty gives him a concerned look as he sits, swallowing his. Bite of sandwich. “What happened to you?”

“Quartet bonding,” he mutters, letting his forehead thud against the table. No one asks him to elaborate.

\---

At Genoveva’s nagging, he wraps his green and grey scarf around his neck and stuffs a black knit hat over his head. He’s beginning to see why Capella just goes along with her cousin’s every whim. Going to the effort of doing whatever troublesome but relatively harmless activity she wants to do is far easier than telling her no. Both cousins are similarly dressed for the nippy weather in their own hats and house scarves when he meets them at the quidditch pitch. Red robed athlete hopefuls are already milling about, brooms in hand.

“Black, you made it!” Genoveva calls as she waves him over to where they sit in the stands.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

She shrugs. “You were late. I thought perhaps you’d gotten lost.”

“Let him be, Vivia,” Capella says, nudging her cousin lightly. “He doesn’t really want to be here. You don’t want to make him regret coming, do you?”

Genoveva gives him a curious look. “Is that true?”

Regulus feels his face grow hot with embarrassment as he shoots Capella a look. “She didn’t have to put it like that,” he murmurs. Genoveva’s face starts to crumble and something akin to panic wells in his chest. “It’s not that I don’t want to support the quartet,” he says quickly. “But it’s no secret that Gryffindors don’t exactly like Slytherins. This isn’t exactly a comfortable situation for me.”

Guilt crosses the Ravenclaw’s face and damn it Regulus feels like he’s kicked the puppy again.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s not like anyone’s going to try to talk to us.”

As if he’d summoned it, it drops into the seat next to him. “Regulus Arcturus Black, I’m rather offended you think I’d ignore my favorite baby brother.”

“More like ignore the chance to make my life difficult,” Regulus mutters. Capella and Genoveva give Sirius a curious look and he’s about to introduce them until he suddenly finds himself preoccupied with getting his brother’s arm off his shoulders. “Sirius, get off.”

The heathen has the audacity to wrap another arm around him and for the second time this week, Regulus’ face is mashed into Sirius’ armpit, this time smelling more of sweat and less of detergent. Over the rustle of cloak as he tries to squirm free, he hears the grin in Sirius’ voice as he says “Callie! It’s nice to finally meet you. I can call you Callie right? I’m Sirius, you must’ve heard all about me.”

Then Capella, the traitor, ignores Regulus’ struggle and says “I was wondering when I’d meet you. Regulus has mentioned you a few times.”

“All good things I’m sure,” Sirius says, tightening his grip on his brother. Regulus has half a mind to kick him but that would be undignified.

“Depends on your definition of good,” says Capella. Sirius starts to answer, but Capella says “Perhaps you should let him go now.”

Intentionally or not, Sirius’ grip loosens and Regulus bolts upward, careening into Capella. She keeps him upright with a nudge to the back. Sirius grins at the glare Regulus gives him. “And what has Reg said about me?”

Capella hums as though thinking, but she’s wearing a smile identical to the one she gives Shacklebolt before she makes a viola joke. “Oh, just bits of things. I recall he said something about dressing up with someone called Narcissa as a child?”

If Regulus had been more inclined towards physical affection, he would’ve hugged her. Instead, he grins at the betrayed look Sirius gives him. “Low blow, Reg. I ought to tell her about the month Bellatrix had you convinced you were actually a lion.”

Regulus feels heat rush to his ears when Capella laughs. “Really? Because of his name?”

Sirius nods smugly and the heat spreads to Regulus’ face. Somehow he doesn’t think the chilly air will excuse the red surely staining his cheeks.

“I did exactly the same thing,” she says with a grin. Regulus blinks at her and he must look completely gobsmacked because she looks like she’s a quip away from laughing again. “No really, my father told me I was named after the goat star when I was four and according to my mother I headbutted everyone and tried to eat everything in sight for the next several weeks.” 

Regulus tries to picture a tiny Capella headbutting a man who looks vaguely like his uncle Cygnus and he can’t help but smile.

“Is that why grandmother and grandfather call you doeling?” Genoveva asks, eyes widening like she’s finally figured out the right stress pattern for a transfiguration incantation.

Sirius’ smug expression turns curious. “Ollivander calls you doeling?”

Capella nods, her smile now more fond than amused. “A doeling is a female goat over six months old. My mother said it started as a joke, but grandfather never really dropped it. Then my grandmother started using it and now it’s just what they call me.”

“Oi Black, duck!” Regulus, Sirius, and Capella all look for the voice and Regulus barely has enough time to yank his brother down by the collar as a bludger slams into the stands. The ball ricochets and Capella grabs Genoveva and dives off the bench as it shoots right where they’d been sitting on its way back to a red clad bespectacled beater.

“Merlin,” Sirius grumbles, rubbing his head where it had had hit the bench.

Regulus ignores him as he looks to the pile of black, blue, and bronze on the ground. “Are you both alright?” he asks as a dark curly head pops up.

“Vivia?” Capella asks as she sits up, reaching out to help her cousin up to the bench.

Genoveva takes her hand with a groan. “Is quidditch always that bad?” she asks, rubbing a scraped elbow.

Sirius shrugs as he straightens his hair. “Depends. Damn bludgers have minds of their own I’m telling you. Also James is a shit beater,” he says, nodding to the beater who’d flown off after the rogue bludger.

Regulus remembers the enthusiastic bespectacled boy from the train. Then he shoots his brother a curious look. “Why are you here if you’re not trying out for the team?”

Sirius shrugs as he gives Regulus a shit eating grin. “Minnie said I could do the commentary so I’m scouting out the teams. Hufflepuff’s got a brilliant keeper this year.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “How many confundus charms did you have to use to get her to agree to that?”

Sirius looks as though Regulus just hit him over the head. “Confundus charms? O’ ye of little faith,” he says, pulling a hand to his chest and dramatically swooning into Regulus’ shoulder, causing him to topple into Capella yet again. “What need have I of confundus charms when I’ve been blessed so with charms of my own?”

Regulus toes where his brother’s scarf is dragging the dusty bleachers and eyes his wrinkled robes with a critical look. Mother would be having a fit. “Indeed,” he says drily. “I’m sure she’s awaiting your proposal of marriage this very moment.” Sirius shoots up, grinning with wide eyes.

“What an idea…” He sits for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek like he always does when he’s thinking. Paired with the growing smirk on his face, Regulus is certain his brother will have a howler at breakfast tomorrow. After a moment, Sirius stands. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an errand to run.”

“What are you doing?” Regulus asks, picking nervously at the end of his scarf. “Sirius, sit down.”

Sirius just waves him off. “It’s just an errand, I’ll be right back. Oh!” He continues up the bleachers backwards. “Callie, you’re invited to tea this weekend. Ask Reg for details.” Then he starts back to the exit with a wave to his bespectacled friend.

“Tea?”

Regulus looks behind him to see Capella frowning as she watches Sirius leave. It seems he’s not the only one worried about what awful idea just came from that malignant growth his brother calls a brain. “Our mother wants us home for tea on Saturday,” he says. “You’ve been invited. If you like, I’ll invite Narcissa so there’s a buffer between you and my mother. She can be intense where family matters are concerned.”

Capella nods thoughtfully. “I think I would like to meet them.”

“Ella,” Genoveva says, eyes narrowed. “What if Professor Flitwick tells your father you left school grounds? We’ve discussed this.”

Capella frowns. “I suppose I could tell him I visited the home of a friend from string quartet or that I left with my cousin.”

“You don’t know that Black is your cousin,” Genoveva points out stiffly.

Capella gives another thoughtful frown, then raises an eyebrow. “Ten of pentacles?”

Genoveva’s expression hardens far beyond what Regulus thought possible as she shoots to her feet. “You can’t base your decisions on my hobby!” She looks indignant and hurt and there’s something burning in her eyes that Regulus can’t identify.

“I came to Hogwarts because of the reading you did for me,” Capella says, tone void of confusion or defensiveness. She’s so calm. Regulus would be freaking out if Narcissa spoke to him that way.

For a moment, Genoveva’s expression falls before it’s taken over by what Regulus now recognizes as anger. “Perhaps Uncle Mirach was right,” she says, starting up the bleachers. “If you’re willing to base your decisions off a stupid deck of cards, you really don’t know what’s best for you.”

Capella watches her leave without even a blink to betray any confusion or indignance. Regulus looks between her and Genoveva’s retreating back. “Did something happen?”

Capella doesn’t look at him as she says. “I think I’ve hurt her.”

“Should you apologize?” He says uncertainly.

Capella shrugs and turns back towards the quidditch pitch. “I never apologize when I don’t know what I’m meant to be sorry for.” Something akin to irritation crosses her face. He wouldn’t have caught it if he’d not been watching her closely the past two days. “If she wants an apology, she has to tell me what I’ve done to upset her. She knows that.”

“What’s the ten of pentacles?” He asks, trying to change the subject.

“It was the people card in my reading,” she says. “Vivia said it meant a family member would play an important role in my future.” Her brows draw together. “I think she’s so worried because my obstacle card was the emperor. Remember how she said your empress card represented your mother? My emperor supposedly symbolized my father. He and I were already having arguments when she read for me, so it wasn’t a large jump to say he would be a hindrance in my future goals.”

“Are you not worried about him finding out?” Regulus asks quietly. He couldn’t imagine blatantly disobeying his father.

Capella went quiet, picking at a stray thread on her mittens. “I am,” she said finally. “A little, that is. Until this summer my father and I got along quite well. Then when my mother mentioned I could go to Hogwarts if I wanted, everything between him, my mother, and my grandfather became really tense.”

“Why wouldn’t he want you to go to Hogwarts?” Regulus asks, watching the Gryffindor seeker hopeful dash after a glint of gold.

Again, Capella was silent. Then, “Could you think of any reason my father wouldn’t like your family? Especially if he knew we were related?”

The Black family had many Enemies, but none within the family that he knew of. Regulus thinks back to the family tree. Of the five disowned, Regulus can only think of one likely to sire children with magic and pass down the family name. His mouth is dry as he asks “You don’t by chance have an ancestor named Phineas do you? He would’ve been born around the mid eighteen-hundreds.”

Capella shakes her head and a weight drops from his chest as he sighs in relief. She gives him a questioning look and he says “He was disowned. He’s the only male I can think of who could’ve had magical children sharing the Black name.”

“Oh,” says Capella. “There’s no relation that I know of. I don’t actually think I can track my family back that far.”

The twinge of panic is back, but he quashes it. “I’m certain you’re not. Now that I think about it, I don’t think he ever married.”

“Then that’s a dead end,” she says, leaning back with a sigh. It’s silent save for the shouts of the quidditch players and the wind. Capella’s eyes are closed and it’s times like these Regulus is irritated that he can’t read minds. “You have a complete family tree,” she says suddenly, slowly sitting up.

Regulus blinks. “Pardon?”

“You have a complete family tree,” she says again. “You said there’s a magical tapestry in your mother’s sitting room documenting your family back the time of William the conqueror.”

Regulus raises a brow. “Yes, but if you can’t even trace your lineage back to the mid eighteen-hundreds, what good is that?”

“The tree you drew out for me was only your close relatives. Does the other tree show extended family?”

“Some,” Regulus says slowly, realization dawning. “You think you’re descended from an extended branch of the family?”

Capella nods. “I think I’ll accept that invitation for tea.”

\---

_Father,_

_I’m sorry to hear that mother isn’t well. I hope Kreacher remembered to bring her tea and read her the Prophet. Classes continue to go well and I’ve even been invited to some sort of dinner by Professor Slughorn. He mentioned that Mother often attended such dinners, so I assumed it would be alright to accept his invitation. Professor Flitwick assigned the quartet Pachelbel’s canon in D for our first piece. We’re all as excited about this turn of events as you can be regarding such a piece. As for mother’s question, I suppose I would say she looks quite similar to Aunt Cassiopeia and Aunt Dorea as children, but mother can decide for herself on Saturday. I have asked both Capella and Narcissa to join us for tea and both have accepted the invitation. Also, regarding Capella’s lineage, she’s confided in me that she cannot trace it beyond her grandparents. As she’s not mentioned any grandparents by the name of Black, I can only assume that goes as far back as her Ollivander grandparents. She seems interested in seeing the family tapestry and inspecting the extended branches of the family for possible relations. She asks that I extend her gratitude for the invitation and relay that she looks forward to meeting the both of you. We shall see the both of you on Saturday._

_Best regards, Regulus Arcturus Black_

_P.S. Perhaps you could ask Kreacher to include something with sugared ginger at tea. I’ve the suspicion she’s quite fond of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudo if you enjoyed it and feel free to leave a comment if there's something I can do to make the reading experience better for you. I live for advice that helps me to become a better writer!
> 
> Pieces referenced if you want to listen!
> 
> Regulus: Brahms cello sonata in E minor  
> https://youtu.be/gnjv7W1YNa4
> 
> Kingsley Shacklebolt: flackton sonata in C minor  
> https://youtu.be/op03_Q_zhEk
> 
> Genoveva: Handel sonata in D major  
> https://youtu.be/MMt1hkkiSv8
> 
> Capella: bach sonata in C major  
> https://youtu.be/zeHysRKM2Ls
> 
> Quartets:  
> Pachelbel Canon in D  
> https://youtu.be/rPGG7eKWj6A
> 
> Purcell Chacony  
> https://youtu.be/VvQQc4nkl2I


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late guys, but in my defense, it's nearly 12000 words (I don’t really know how this happened???) and was an absolute beast to attempt to edit.There are probably still mistakes, so please have mercy. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!

“Page of pentacles, give me a moment.”

Regulus hasn’t quite convinced himself he isn’t dreaming. Barty stares quizzically at the rectangle of stiff cardstock depicting a young boy holding a coin adorned with a five-pointed star. Crabbe flips through a slim book with neat annotations in the margins. The writing is far too uniform to be his own and Regulus doesn’t need Crabbe to tell him who the book’s owner is. He looks towards the Ravenclaw table to see said owner chatting enthusiastically with an Indian girl whose front pocket has a small, fuzzy head poking out the top. Genoveva absentmindedly offers the rodent bits of her toast as she speaks, gesturing wildly with her free hand. Regulus’ gaze then drifts to the far end of the table where Capella sits alone, reading a book as she sips tea from a battered cup.

“Here it is,” Crabbe says, squinting at the book. “As a person, the page of pentacles is methodical, practical, and dedicated. Like the other pages, this person is probably young. They have potential for greatness, so you can believe in them and their plans because they will not fail.”

Barty nods, brow furrowed in confusion, and gestures to the next card. “Alright. You said the next one is obstacles?”

Crabbe flips to a bookmarked section, then looks back to the tarot spread in front of Barty. “Yes, I think so,” he says, flipping the card over to reveal a familiar half human half goat creature with horns. Rosier’s eyes widen as he elbows Selwyn and not so subtly gestures to the card.

When Regulus had suggested that Crabbe ask Genoveva about tarot, he’d meant for him to ask her for a reading and go on blissfully knowing he’d spoken to his crush or whatever the Ollivander girl was to him. He didn’t expect Crabbe to interpret that as ask her to teach him to read tarot and owl order a deck of his own.

“The devil,” Crabbe says, frowning. “Genoveva said that means temptation.”

Barty raises an eyebrow at Regulus. “Wasn’t that your obstacle card too?”

Regulus nodded, sipping his tea and trying not to think about how out of place Crabbe looked among books and divination artifacts.

“Scary,” Evan says, still looking at the cards with wide eyes. Selwyn grumbles and pushes the blond boy’s porridge towards him. Regulus catches the words “eat”, “class”, and “moron”.

Crabbe shrugs and flips the last card, revealing another familiar image, this time of a woman bound in chains as a group of birds warm around her, picking at her eyes. Crabbe flips through his booklet. “Eight of swords. Imprisonment, powerlessness, and self-victimization. You feel trapped, like there’s no way to escape an issue and you feel helpless to improve your situation.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” Barty says, frowning at the card.

Evan swallows the spoonful of porridge Selwyn practically shoved into his hand. “It’s better than Regulus,” he says and Regulus scowls as the Rosier boy adds “At least you’re not going to die.”

“Death is actually the card of new beginnings,” Crabbe says, looking pleased with himself. Probably because he remembered what the wise and all-knowing Genoveva had taught him. For the first time this week, Regulus is thankful for something Crabbe said.

“Thank you,” Regulus says, shooting a triumphant look at Evan before going back his breakfast.

Barty continues to look critically at the seven-card spread encircling his plate. “How do all of these go together again?”

Crabbe flips to the back of the book and Regulus catches a glimpse of a heavily annotated diagram of a seven-card spread identical to the one Genoveva had done for him and that Crabbe was attempting to do for Barty.“The five of cups is your past,” he says. “It’s supposed to mean you were sad or lonely, but the next one,” he points to the second card. “The ten of cups is associated with happiness and fulfillment found in community. You feel you’ve found your place in the world around you. The future card,” he gestures to depiction a man and woman entangled in a passionate embrace, “Is the lovers, so you’re going to develop a close relationship with someone, maybe the page of pentacles over here,” he says, pointing to the aforementioned card.

“What about this one? I didn’t understand what you meant when you described it.” Barty says, pointing to the upside-down card of a silhouette standing in front of seven cups balanced on a cloud.

Crabbe rubs at the back of his neck. “It confused me too, sorry.”

Barty shrugs it off and starts gesturing to another card when Crabbe straightens. “Wait a moment,” he says, sliding out of his seat and hurrying towards the Ravenclaw table. There’s a moment of silence as the four boys watch him tap Genoveva’s shoulder.

“Of all the girls he could fancy, I wouldn’t have thought that one,” Rosier says, watching the two chatter.

Regulus shrugs. “She would be good for him. Though Merlin only knows if she’d reciprocate his feelings.”

“They’re coming back this way,” Barty says, nodding to where Genoveva is now following Crabbe back to their table.

“--of cups, but I don’t know how to interpret it,” Crabbe says to the Ravenclaw. He gestures to the table as they get closer.

“You said it’s in in the advice position?” she asks, waving to the four at the table as she leans over to study the spread.

“He can’t make sense of the cards together,” Barty says helpfully.

Genoveva nods, then looks to Barty. “The advice card is odd, but I think the overall spread is clear enough. What has he interpreted so far?”

Barty grins. “I was sad and had no friends, but now I feel like I belong and I’m going to fall in love with a successful person.”

Genoveva chuckles. “A good start, though a bit extreme.” She points to the page of pentacles. “Your relationship with this person, romantic, platonic, antagonistic or otherwise will be important in relation to the outcome,” she says, tapping the card of the woman bound in chains. “The advice card, seven of cups reversed, I would say means be wary of any offers you receive and try to think rationally about what someone might be hiding from you.”

“So…” Barty makes a gesture at the whole spread.

Capella shakes her head with a smile. “Your past was lonely, but now you have a community to support you and you’ll form a strong bond with someone practical and determined to succeed. Something will tempt you, but you should think about what’s being offered and seek counsel, perhaps from the page of pentacles in your reading.” Her hand moves to the last card. “If you act without thinking, you will be trapped without a way out of whatever trouble befalls you.”

“Brilliant,” Crabbe and Barty say simultaneously, one awed, the other unenthused.

Genoveva waves it off. “Don’t pay it any attention, the cards don’t actually predict the future.” Her gaze almost imperceptibly flicks to Capella’s corner of the table where, to Regulus’ surprise, Narcissa is chatting with her, smiling warmly. Genoveva’s jaw tightens momentarily before she turns back to Barty. “Put it out of your mind and finish your breakfast. It’s—”

Blue sparks light up at the front as McGonnagall calls “Fifteen minutes to first block!”

Crabbe scrambles to collect his cards. Barty nods to Genoveva as he shoves his last bite of toast into his mouth and Regulus drains his teacup, wincing as the steaming liquid scorches his throat.

“Black.” Regulus looks up at Genoveva. She glances once more to Capella’s seat before saying “I won’t be at study group this evening, so don’t wait to start on my account.”

Regulus nods and she hurries off towards the door where the girl with the rat is waiting on her.

“She wasn’t there yesterday either,” says Barty, watching her leave. “Did she and Black have a fight?”

Regulus shrugs. “I’m not exactly sure what happened, but Capella seems to think it’ll sort itself out.”

“Let’s hope so,” says Barty. “Someone needs to be there to keep Black from making us memorize the textbook.”

“Really,” Regulus says, grabbing his books from the table. “We have our first string quartet rehearsal on Monday. I’ll intervene if it’s not better by then.” Regulus hopes he won’t have to. He pities the poor soul who tries make Capella Black or Genoveva Ollivander do something they don’t want to.

\---

Genoveva moved seats in charms that day and if Capella’s unwillingness to put her book down, even for a covert game of “guess the piece I’m tapping”, was anything to go by, her cousin’s silent treatment was affecting her more than she let on. The rest of the day he debated asking her if she wanted to talk about it until he was packing his bag to meet her at the astronomy tower to work on their autumn star chart homework. Barty sat at his desk, writing furiously in one of the leather notebooks he kept in his nightstand. Crabbe had teased him about having a diary, but he’d brushed it off saying even if the notebook was a diary, which it wasn’t, it was his own business what he did with his free time.

“You should get your things,” Regulus says, pointing to Barty’s empty school bag and unpacked telescope. “We’re going to be late.”

“You go ahead,” Barty says, waving him off. “I have to finish this. I might come later.”

Regulus blinks but can’t think of anything to say. Barty wasn’t required to spend time with him and it wasn’t like he’d be by himself. Capella is just as much his friend and he’s almost certain she’s family. He would be fine. Even as he repeats this mantra in his head, no small amount of anxiety blooms in his stomach as he walks the corridors alone and only as he’s climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower does it begin to ebb. It goes away completely as he opens the door to the turreted rooftop and sees Capella’s familiar face.

She’s sitting with her back to one of the turrets, lantern at her side, parchment and quill in front of her, and possibly the largest cat he’s ever seen lounging in her lap. She reaches down to scratch between its brown ears and under its muzzle as she waves to him. “Good evening,” she says, pushing a small pouch he’d seen delivered to her on Wednesday towards him. She confirms his suspicions of its contents when she asks “Ginger? My mother sent me some earlier this week.”

“Thank you,” he says, popping a piece of the yellow candy into his mouth. It’s sweet and spicy, a welcome burst of warmth in the chilly night air. The cat yawns stretches in her lap, giving Regulus a clear view of its fluffy white feet before it curls up again with a quiet rumbling exhale. “Is that Patroclus?” he asks.

Capella reaches down to scratch the cat’s ears again. “Yes. He’s been terribly lonely. Since he chased her rat the other day, Anushka started making him sleep in the common room and I thought he we could keep him company. Besides, he’ll make a nice blanket of sorts up here. He’s quite warm.”

Regulus eyes the obscene amount of fur covering the feline and says “I imagine he would be. He’s quite large.”

“He’s a Maine coon,” she says, stroking Patroclus’ flank and smiling faintly when a deep, raspy purr comes from the pile of fluff in her lap. “They’re generally larger than most other housecats.”

Regulus examines the feline, noting its white socks and the matching white fur running up its chest and over the bottom part of its face. “I know you said you named him to match your sister’s cat, but Patroclus fits pretty well. The brown on his face kind of looks like a helmet.” He tentatively reaches out to scratch beneath the cat’s chin. Patroclus obliges and lifts his head to allow Regulus easier access. “Does Achilles also have white on his face?”

Capella nods. “They’re from the same litter. Achilles looks similar, but his tail is mostly white and there’s less white on his chest. And he only has one sock, hence his name.” An expression Regulus can’t identify crosses her face. “He’s probably been driving Addie up the wall begging for attention now that his brother is gone.”

Regulus frowns. “Does she dislike giving him attention?”

Capella shakes her head quickly. “Merlin no, Addie loves that cat more than life itself.” A faint smile quirks her lips. “I’m sure she’s been spoiling him since I left, but he can be quite demanding. Patroclus is usually quiet, but Achilles will cry until you pick him up if he wants to be held and Addie can’t hold him all the time, though I’m sure she tries.”

“Your sister sounds amusing,” says Regulus, feeling a little more bold and reaching out to stroke the cat as Capella had. Regulus is rewarded for his efforts with a rumbling purr and he makes a note to spend more time with the cats at Aunt Cassiopeia’s.

“Sometimes,” Capella says. She pops another piece of ginger candy into her mouth before going silent. Several moments pass where the only sounds are the trill of cicadas and Patroclus’ low purring. “Of the two of us,” Capella says suddenly, “she’s most like our mother.” The unreadable expression is back and Regulus wonders what she’s thinking.

Capella looks up, eyes flicking around where the moon hangs in the sky before resting on something. Regulus knows she’s looking at Cassiopeia before his own eyes find the jagged constellation. “We both have our father’s hair, but that’s about where the similarities stop,” she says. “She’s got mum’s green eyes and the angles in her face aren’t dramatic like papa’s.” Capella smiles faintly. “She and mum are complete basket cases. I’m not sure Addie’s ever willingly finished a book. She likes to read, but she never wants to know how a story ends and she’s adamant that someday she’s going to dye her hair bright blue. Not to mention she picked viola over violin, so clearly she’s a marble short there.”

Regulus snorts out a laugh. “Clearly. Even Sirius picked piano and I’m not sure he was born with all his wits.”

“I’m dreadfully curious about his errand on Wednesday,” says Capella. “Does he often take off on his own like that?”

“You wouldn’t understand the half of it,” Regulus mutters, letting his head rest back against the cold stone of the turret. “It’s been going on since we were children. These days I feel like I’m the older brother.”

“Hm,” Capella hums with a grin. “I’d say from his performance the other day he’s quite attached to his title as eldest. I doubt he’d like hearing you claim it.”

“I shudder to think of it,” Regulus says despite the grin on his own face. “In all honesty, he’s not a bad brother. If I needed help, he’d help me and I suppose that’s all that matters. He mostly kept in touch last year and I’ve no doubt I’ll see more of him here whether I want to or not.”

“That was good of him,” Capella says quietly. The smile has faded to careful neutrality. “I wish I’d spent more time with Addie before school started.”

Regulus frowned. “I thought you said you were close?”

“We were,” she says, shifting slightly in her seat to Patroclus’ discontent. “But I don’t think we will be again. At least, not like we used to be.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Capella pulls Patroclus closer, stroking his ears. He adjusts his head to rest his chin in the crook of her elbow. “I’ve sent her a letters since Sunday evening. She made me promise to write everyday when I first began preparing for school. She hasn’t written me back and I’m sure if she does it’ll only be to ask me to stop wasting parchment. Then next year she’ll be at Beauxbatons and I won’t see her at all.”

Regulus doesn’t know how to answer. He tries to imagine how he’d feel if Sirius had never written to him last year and they ended up at different schools. A weight forms in the pit of his stomach and he immediately banishes the thought. He wouldn't say he and Sirius were extremely close. They'd certainly never been as close as Bellatrix, Narcissa, and... well perhaps it was a blessing they weren't. Still, he’d feel lost if the brother who'd been his sole playmate as a child, who laughed when Regulus tripped down the stairs, and who faced the brunt of mother's anger on her bad days, suddenly disappeared from his life.

“I can’t help but think there’s some truth to what Vivia said,” She says softly, eyes fixed on the wall opposite them. It takes a moment for Regulus to remember what the Ollivander girl had said before leaving the quidditch pitch.

“That you don’t know what’s best for you?” He asks. Capella nods and Regulus frowns, his brow furrowing. “Do you regret coming to Hogwarts?”

She shakes her head. “No, I like it here, but since school started, the only family I haven’t somehow upset are my mother and my grandparents.”

That notion terrified Regulus more than losing Sirius. If he upset his family to the point only his mother and grandparents would speak to him, Regulus would be out of his mind. Nausea twisted in his stomach, as he imagined Bellatrix sneering at him and Cissa refusing to look at him or Aunt Cassiopeia narrowing her eyes at him over her spectacles the way she had when Sirius broke her grandmother’s one of a kind Ming dynasty vase. If Capella felt as he did now, it was time to change the subject before either of them turned melancholic.

“It’s quite fitting Achilles and Patroclus are from the same litter,” He says quickly, latching on to the first topic that came to mind. “You know, considering Achilles and Patroclus were brothers in arms.”

Capella blinks, then grimaces slightly. “I wish you hadn't said that. They weren’t just brothers in arms, they were lovers. The way you've put it has disturbingly incestuous implications for my and Addie's cats.”

Regulus wrinkles his nose, both at the idea of oedipally inclined felines and Capella's misunderstanding of the epic for which she'd named her cat. She'd said she was continuing the theme set by her sister, but he would've expected she'd read the source material before naming her cat for one of its characters. “Lovers? Who told you that?”

“The Illiad,” Capella says, giving Regulus a flat look. “I’m surprised, I thought it seemed like something you would’ve read.”

“I have read it,” Regulus says, slightly irritated as the urge to defend himself arises. “My grandfather created a translation from the original Homeric Greek which he learned from the runes master Boreas Kalliope.”

“So did mine,” Capella says, looking as though she doesn’t know if she should be confused about that particular fact. Regulus supposes there could be ancient Greek runes used in wand making. And Kalliope was considered the leading expert on archaic Greek dialects. Ollivander knowing the language probably isn’t as strange as he thinks.

“This is an irrational argument. Translations aren’t always accurate, so either of us could be wrong,” Capella says, waving a hand dismissively. “But would it be so bad if they did love each other?”

“They couldn’t have,” Regulus says, wrinkling his nose. “They’re both men.”

Capella’s eyebrows shoot up. “What makes you think men can’t love other men?”

“I—” Regulus breaks off and thinks, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Men married women. None of his uncles or aunts had married a member of their own sex. It simply wasn’t done, which meant there had to be a reason for it. Why wasn’t it done?

“My mother’s youngest sister married another woman,” Capella says, giving him a pointed look. “They have a two year old son. I think they’re just as happy as my and Vivia’s parents.”

Regulus’ eyes go wide. “Really?”

Capella chuckles. “It’s like no one’s ever told you men can love men and women can love women.”

“What?”

Capella’s grin fades. She blinks at him with wide eyes. “You’re not serious are you?”

“Perfectly so,” Regulus says with a scowl. “I’d appreciate it if you’d not make me feel naïve.”

Capella shakes her head. “Sorry. I didn’t think you wouldn’t know. Let me think of how to best explain.” She chews on her lip a moment, absentmindedly stroking the cat in her lap before looking up again. “Alright, so you know how the Greeks said there were different types of love?”

Regulus nods.

“Perfect. So you know about Eros? Love that inspires lust? Well, some people—”

Regulus listens in a mix of fascination and bewilderment as Capella explains how everyone feels love differently because no one person is exactly alike, which makes so much sense he’s embarrassed he’s never thought of it. She explains how some people, perhaps like Achilles and Patroclus, are only attracted to men, some people like her aunts are only attracted to women, and that some people are attracted to both. She explains how some people consider themselves neither men nor women and that some people, including herself, don’t feel the love the Greeks called Eros at all.

“How curious,” Regulus says faintly, taking a moment to absorb the mountain of information Capella just dumped in his lap. His head spins as though he’d slipped into a river and resurfaced on the moon. He’d never given much thought to love before. In the back of his mind, he always knew he’d marry a respectable pure blood witch after he came of age to add to the numerous alliances the Blacks had made through marriage. Love was something to be built after. This is new and strange and Regulus can’t wrap his head around it. He thinks of the few small gestures of affection between his parents, of how his father carefully does the clasps of his mother’s jewelry and helps her unpin her hair when they’re late getting home from an event, or how his mother straightens his father’s cravat and squeezes his hand as they sit for breakfast. Regulus imagines helping his future wife with her own jewelry, then imagines straightening another man’s cravat. The thought makes him tense as a strange feeling, oily and warm settles in his stomach. He doesn't know what to make of it.

“You look uncomfortable.”

Regulus startles from his thoughts and looks up at Capella. She’s looking at him as though trying to see the ideas turning in his brain. He shifts in his seat under her gaze. “It’s uncomfortable to think about,” he says, pushing the faceless man from his thoughts aside.

“My mother says the greatest thoughts are those which are uncomfortable to think,” Capella says with a shrug. “That our minds are like muscles and we must put them through a bit of discomfort if we want them to grow. She says only thinking about what we know keeps one’s view of the world dreadfully small.”

“That sound like something a Ravenclaw would say,” says Regulus. Capella only smiles and offers him another piece of ginger. For several minutes, there’s nothing but the sweet warmth of the candy in his mouth, Patroclus’ soft fur beneath his fingers, the faint sounds of Capella chewing her own chunk of ginger, and the multitude of stars they’re mapping for class.

Out of habit, he picks out the stars and constellations for which his family is named. He finds Cassiopeia again and looks west towards Cygnus, then slightly north to where Bootes looms just above the horizon, Arcturus glowing brightly at the herdsman’s hip. He follows the horizon, catching a glimpse of Gemini, though Pollux and Castor are out of sight until next summer. The brightest star nearest the half-hidden constellation catches his eye and he frowns, examining the stars surrounding it until a glance at Capella’s half-finished chart connects the pinprick of light to the constellation Auriga, the charioteer. Regulus feels the corners of his lips curl. “I didn’t know Capella was visible after August.”

He hears the whisper of Capella’s robes shifting against the stone as she shrugs. “Compared to Perseus, Andromeda, and Pegasus, Auriga isn’t much to look at. Especially considering most astronomers connect it to Taurus. People don’t really think about it, much less it’s individual stars. Not common, as far as star themed names go.”

“At least it’s better than comething like Camelopardalis,” Regulus says wryly. “No one ever knows where it is and I’ve never been able to convince myself it looks like a giraffe.”

Capella gives a huff of laughter. “I’d pity anyone with that sort of name. You know, my parents almost named me Vulpecula.”

Regulus’ head whips towards her. “In all seriousness?”

Capella laughs. “It was my father’s idea. I’m sure he thought more of its meaning than how ridiculous it sounds but luckily my mother told him no. He sometimes uses it if I’ve vexed him though.”

“He liked ‘little fox’?” Regulus asked, eyebrows shooting up. He glances at Capella’s chart and quickly locates the miniscule two-star constellation beneath Cygnus’ wings. “Why only when he’s vexed?”

“He knows I don’t care for it,” she says, smiling despite the claim. “Also says it’s fitting, since foxes are traditionally depicted as duplicitous. He uses my real name if I’ve done something to really make him furious. First, middle, and last, though I suppose that’s not abnormal.”

“My mother does that,” Regulus says. He frowns, then corrects himself. “She does that with Sirius at least. I’ve never upset her enough to earn more than a first and middle name address. If I’ve really vexed my father he’ll call me an ignorant boy, but I’ve never been called much else.”

Capella raises an eyebrow. “No other family nicknames? Not even your grandparents?”

“Hm.” Regulus shrugs. “You’ve heard Sirius call me Reg amongst other things. My grandmother on my father’s side calls all her grandchildren by their first and middle names and if Bellatrix is in the mood for teasing she might call me princess, but otherwise, no.”

“Princess?” She asks with a snicker.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Regulus means little prince. And she calls Sirius mutt, so I think I landed the better of the two.”

Capella grins. “She sounds entertaining. A cousin of yours I assume?”

“The older sister of Narcissa,” Regulus says with a nod. “I saw you speaking with her this morning.”

Capella purses her lips thoughtfully. “She’s very polite. She told me if I needed anything to owl her a note and offered to play a duet with me.”

“A duet?” Regulus asks, raising a brow. “She must like you then. Narcissa doesn’t really think of flute as more than a responsibility.”

“How is music a responsibility?” She asks, frowning as she scratches between Patroclus’ ears.

Regulus matches her frown. “Pureblood families are expected to have a thorough knowledge of politics, language, social dancing, and the arts. Music is part of that, though I suppose it doesn’t feel like a responsibility to you.”

Capella makes a face. “Social dancing and politics? What is this, the nineteenth century?”

He shrugs. “Well I suppose politics wouldn’t really concern you,” Regulus says, uncertainty creeping into his tone as Capella shoots him a confused, mildly offended look though he’s not sure what he’s said wrong. “But surely your parents made you take dance lessons. Sirius and I took four years-worth starting when we were six.”

She raises an eyebrow. “My grandfather tried to teach Addie and me to waltz and foxtrot when we visited two summers ago, but we’ve never really needed to learn. Our parents are unspeakables,” she says. “We’re not exactly on the guest list for the minister’s Christmas gala.”

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek. He probably should’ve expected that Capella’s education at home had been different to his. Her family was pureblood, but her parents’ occupations probably created circumstances preventing her from receiving the more traditional education common to accomplished pureblood witches. Perhaps her mother’s career prevented her from overseeing her daughters’ lessons. It was uncommon for wives of men from sacred twenty-eight families to work traditional jobs, but the Ollivander family had always been a bit strange. “What lessons did you have before coming to Hogwarts?”

Capella’s gaze drifts up as she thinks. “Well, obviously basic mathematics, reading, writing, and science. Addie and I were raised learning French and English simultaneously, so we had both French and English lessons. Papa insisted we also learn elementary Greek and Latin for spells and runes when we got older and we were encouraged to play an instrument, so—”

“What about etiquette?” Regulus asks, frown deepening. “Or government? At least tell me you had instruction in those.”

Capella’s expression faded as it did when she was about to make a blunt and potentially rude statement. “Yes, my parents taught us civics and manners. I recall they told me never to interrupt someone when they’re speaking, but perhaps their instruction was inadequate.”

Regulus feels his ears grow hot and he’s glad Capella can’t see his face in the dark. “My apologies. I was only concerned. I didn’t realize how non-traditional your family was before now. I hadn’t expected your education to differ from mine.”

“Traditional or not, there’s nothing insufficient about the way Addie and I were taught,” Capella says, eyes wary as she examines his expression. “Our tutors were our parents or friends our parents knew from work and unspeakables have to be knowledgeable in a variety of subjects to understand the magic they study. One could argue the teachers I had at home are more qualified to teach their subjects than some of the professors here. I’m quite confident in my foundational education.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Regulus says, sensing an argument in the making. “I only meant it was different from what I expected.”

Capella doesn’t argue, but her gaze doesn’t falter. She takes a moment to stroke Patroclus before saying “What should I expect at tea tomorrow?”

The change in subject lifts a weight from Regulus’ shoulders. “Mother plans for tea to be served at four, but she wants us there early so we’ll floo in around three forty-five.”

“Kreacher will probably be there to meet us. He’s our house elf. I hope you’ll get along, he’s a good elf and I’m quite fond of him. Tea will probably be in my mother’s sitting room. That’s where the tapestry is, so you’ll see it then.”

Capella nods. “Anything else?”

“Perhaps don’t touch the cupboards,” he says, grimacing at Capella’s look of confusion. “Grimmauld place has been in the Black family since its construction.Generations of witches and wizards have left wards, artifacts, and protective spells all over the house and even my parents don’t know about everything that’s in there. It’d be best if you’re careful about what you touch.” Regulus ponders other advice. “My parents can come off a bit stern,” he says. “But don’t take it personally, that’s just how they are. They’ll probably like you.”

“That would be ideal,” Capella says dryly.

Regulus feels a smile curl at his lips. “They will. Trust me.”

\---

It’s eerie how abandoned the corridors are on the weekend. Regulus’ footsteps echo off the ancient stone as he makes his way to Professor McGonnagall’s office, tugging nervously at the collar of the shirt beneath his jumper. He supposes the non-uniform clothing contributes to the wrongness of it all and he wonders if he’ll ever feel comfortable not wearing a tie after Hogwarts. He’d reached for the length of silver and green silk this morning and was halfway through tying it when Barty eyed the clothes laid atop his bed and asked if he was planning to wear his uniform on his visit home. Regulus had quickly put the tie away and exchanged the grey jumper for a black one.

It just gets stranger when he catches sight of Capella outside McGonnagall’s office, leaning against the wall with thin, pocket-sized book in hand. That at least is familiar. The blue tweed overcoat covering corduroy trousers and a high-necked jumper is completely foreign compared to her usual robes, skirt, and tie. Even her hair is different, wild curls neatly held behind her ears with simplistic metal combs rather than hastily stuffed half up in a barrette.

“Good afternoon,” she says, not looking up from her book. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant weekend so far?”

“It’s been quiet,” he says, leaning back against a nearby pillar. “But for the most part relaxing. Gustav’s been inseparable from his cards since speaking to Ollivander. He’s done readings for everyone who’ll let him.”

A hint of a smile crosses Capella’s face. “Hm. Anything particularly exciting?”

“Evan’s supposedly going to suffer under tremendous anxiety and loneliness before becoming a hermit,” Regulus says, feeling a smile of his own curl at his lips. “I’ve a suspicion he forgot the meaning of the hermit card.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” She closes the book and tucks it beneath her coat into her one of the pockets of her trousers. “But we must acknowledge his efforts. If he insists upon wooing or befriending my cousin, you may tell him he has my blessing and that she’s fond of black licorice.”

Regulus can’t help but grimace at the thought of the dark chewy sweet. Capella gives him a commiserating wrinkle of her nose and says “I know. It’s a strange like she picked up from our grandfather. No one else in our family can stand it.”

“I’ll tell him,” Regulus says. “I admit I’m surprised Ollivander of all people caught his attention. Perhaps more than a bit surprised you’d encourage him. She’d be good for him, but I can’t say I can think of anything he could do for her.”

Capella shrugs. “From what I’ve seen, he’s kind to Vivia and listens to her. She told Anushka last night that she enjoys answering his questions. If he’s good to her and makes her happy, why would I take issue with whatever happens between them?”

“Fair point,” Regulus says, shrugging. “I—”

McGonagall’s office door opens and the transfiguration professor’s grey streaked head appears in the doorway. “I thought I heard voices.” She opens the door wider. “Well, let’s not linger in the halls. Please, come in.”

The two obediently enter the office, sitting in the two chairs across from the large wooden desk when McGonagall gestures for them to sit. “So,” she says, moving behind the desk to take her own chair. “You’re both first years. How are you liking classes so far?”

“Quite well,” says Regulus, straightening his posture and folding his hands in his lap. “Defense and flying are my favorite so far. I might try to play quidditch next year.”

Capella nods. “Defense is also a favorite of mine, though I’ve enjoyed your class as well, professor. I’m curious about the section on transfugurative runology listed in the syllabus.”

McGonagall raises an eyebrow. “It’s wonderful you’ve both found your interests, but I’d recommend keeping an open mind to other subjects. You’ll have a better idea of what you want to do after Hogwarts that way.”

“I want to be a curse breaker,” says Capella, resting her hands on the arms of her chair. “My mother has many books on curses and curse breaking rituals in our family library. They’re quite interesting, especially those on curses affecting humans.”

“If your apparent interest in runes persists, it’s certainly a career to look into,” says McGonagall with a polite smile. “But many students find their interests change as their education becomes less influenced by the careers of their parents. I take it your mother’s a curse breaker?”

“No, she’s an unspeakable,” Regulus says before realizing he should’ve let Capella answer. If McGonagall found him answering strange, she didn’t show it.

Capella gives the teacher a small smile. “As Regulus said, she’s an unspeakable. Obviously she’s not allowed to describe her work, but based her reading material I think it’s likely my mother works with some manner of experimental curses.”

Despite the near scolding expression McGonagall gives Capella, there’s amusement behind it. “Though your skills of deduction do your house credit, that isn’t something you should share lightly, Miss Black. I feel certain your parents have warned you of the importance of secrecy in an unspeakable’s line of work.”

“Of course, professor, my mistake,” says Capella, not looking at all sorry.

McGonagall turns to Regulus. “So, you’re thinking about quidditch next year?”

Regulus nods. “I enjoy flying and our father has taken my brother and me to the quidditch world cup every year since I was six. Quidditch strategy is one of my favorite things to read about.”

McGonagall gives him a pleased smile. “Your cousin Bellatrix was one of the most formidable beaters I’ve seen in my years at Hogwarts. If you’re half the flyer she is, I dare say Slytherin will give my house a great deal of trouble next year.”

Regulus bites back a grimace at the thought of Bellatrix anywhere near a beater’s bat. He doesn’t want to know how many injuries resulted from his cousin’s…enthusiasm. “I don’t have the build of a beater,” he says, pushing aside thoughts of broken bones and bludger borne gore. “I’m more suited to be a chaser or seeker. Something that relies on speed rather than strength.”

“Right you are,” McGonagall says just as there’s a knock on the door. “Enter,” calls McGonagall.

The door opens and Narcissa steps into the office. Her hair is braided and pinned and the edges of a dark crimson skirt hang just below the hem of her trench coat.

“Good afternoon, Miss Black,” professor McGonagall says,. She pulls out her wand and flicks it towards the coat rack by the door. The spindly metal stand shrinks and twists until a black stool sits in its place. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Narcissa says, smiling politely. She pulls the stool next to Capella’s chair and sits primly, straightening her spine and crossing her ankles as she smooths her skirt. “Regulus, Capella,” she says, smiling warmly at the two. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised we’re waiting on Sirius.”

“He’ll be here soon,” says Regulus. He chews nervously at the corner of his lip. “Mother will be cross if we’re late.”

Narcissa raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say what they’re both thinking. Sirius would make them late for precisely that reason. With a long-suffering sigh, Narcissa shakes her head and turns to Capella. “If Regulus hasn’t told you, Sirius has a penchant for trouble. I suppose professor McGonagall would know that better than most,” she says, nodding to the professor with a sympathetic expression.

McGonagall gives her a tired smile in return. “I’ve never met a Black who wasn’t bright. I should’ve expected there’d eventually be one to use that intelligence for mischief.”

“Aunt Walburga should have him under control today,” Narcissa says, turning back to Capella. “So you ought to have a pleasant visit. I’m certain she and Uncle Orion will love you.”

“Regulus seems to think so,” Capella says with a shrug. “I’m not so worried about it. They’ll either like me or they won’t. No sense in wasting time worrying about it.”

McGonagall frowns. “Forgive me, but are you three not cousins?”

“It’s complicated,” Narcissa says, polite smile turning apologetic. “We’d never heard of her before the sorting on Sunday, but the circumstances are too odd to be coincidence.”

“We’ve been trying to find a mutual family relation,” Regulus adds. “It seems likely we’re related and my father agreed to help us look into it.”

“I’ll say,” says McGonagall, raising an eyebrow. “The resemblance between her, Bellatrix, and Andromeda at her age is striking. I assumed she was Alphard’s daughter.”

Narcissa laughs, despite the way her shoulders stiffen. “I’m not sure Uncle Alphard will ever marry or have children, though it’s not for any lack of encouragement on our grandmother’s behalf.”

“Professor Slughorn always said Irma was quite invested in the lives of her children,” McGonagall says with a smile. “Perhaps Capella’s sorting should’ve warned me. It’s unusual for a Black to not go to Slytherin. Professor Slughorn was quite put out he didn’t get Sirius and was equally disappointed Capella went to Professor Flitwick.”

“Oh yes,” Narcissa says bemusedly. “He’s told me many times that he wishes he’d gotten the set of us. I’m sorry we’ve disappointed him, but it’ll be good for Sirius to have family outside of Slytherin. Bella thinks he feels a bit left out, not that he’d ever admit it.”

McGonagall smiles wryly. “That’s certain—”

The door swings open without warning and his brother swagers in, grinning. “Good afternoon Minnie,” he says, bowing melodramatically. He nods to the three sitting before the professor. “Reg, Cissa, Callie.”

“Mr. Black,” McGonagall says, expression turning stern. “Just because it isn’t a school day doesn’t excuse you from being on time.”

Sirius says something in reply, but Regulus attention zeros in on his brother’s attire. “What are you wearing?” He blurts out, eying the leather monstrosity fastened over his brother’s jumper.

“Eh?” Sirius blinks, then looks at the offending article of clothing. A grin stretches across his face. “It’s a jacket, I borrowed it from James. Ace, isn’t it?”

“Aunt Walburga’s going to have a fit,” Narcissa says, nose wrinkled in distaste at the same time Regulus says “Mother’s going to have your head.”

Sirius shrugged. “Callie’s going to be there, she’ll have other things to worry about.” He gestures to the fireplace in the back of the room with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Shall we? Wouldn’t want to vex mother dearest now, would we Reg?”

“Says the one who arrived late,” Regulus mutters, standing from his chair. He follows Narcissa to the large hearth, taking a moment to make sure Capella’s following behind him.

“All right then,” says McGonagall, retrieving a pot of green powder from beside the fireplace. “Two of you should fit at a time. Sirius, Narcissa, if you would.”

His brother and cousin step into the fireplace, Narcissa ducking slightly so her head doesn’t hit the mantle. She thanks the professor as she scoops pale green powder from the pot with one hand and grips Sirius’ arm with the other. “Have a good evening Professor,” she says before clearing her throat. “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.” She drops the powder and a burst of green fire rushes over the two. Sirius winks and blows a kiss to the professor just as it covers them completely and they disappear with the flames.

McGonagall sighs and shakes her head before gesturing to the fireplace with a wave. “In you go, don’t dally.”

Regulus steps into the wide stone hearth, moving over to make room for Capella as he reaches into the pot of floo powder. He places one hand on Capella’s shoulder and raises the other to drop the powder.

“Thank you, Professor,” Capella says, waving. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” McGonagall says, tucking the pot under her arm. “Give your parents my greetings, Mr. Black. I’ll expect the four of you back by six.”

“Yes professor,” Regulus says with a nod. Then he clears his throat and drops the powder. “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.” The cool rush of magic prickles at his skin, making the hair on his arms stand as green flames wash over them. The fire fills his vision momentarily before retreating swiftly and he’s no longer looking out at an office. The familiar dark wood floors and stone countertops of the kitchens at Grimmauld place stretch out before them. Sirius leans against the wall as Narcissa stands in front of a chair where Kreacher is helping her with her coat. Stepping out of the fireplace and down from the hearth, he brushes the dust from his jumper. “Watch your step,” he says as Capella ducks out of the fireplace.

“Master Regulus.” Regulus turns back to where Kreacher now stands folding Narcissa’s coat over his arm.

Now that he sees him, it hits Regulus just how much he’s missed the elf now that he doesn’t see him every day. He can’t help the fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hello Kreacher.” He reaches down to pat the elf’s head. “I trust you’ve been well? Been taking care of mother?”

“Master Regulus is kind to ask after Kreacher,” Kreacher says. The reply is standard, but the house elf’s hands fuss a bit more enthusiastically with the buttons of his coat than they had a week ago. Regulus moves back towards the chair and helps the elf up to make it easier for him. “Mistress Black has been lonely since the young masters left her for school, but Kreacher always does his best to make his mistress comfortable.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Regulus says, pulling his arms from his coat and giving Kreacher a pat on the head. Someone scoffs behind him and he doesn’t need to look to know Sirius is rolling his eyes. Regulus ignores his brother and turns to where Capella stands, observing Regulus and the elf with a curious expression. He steps back and places a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her forward. Kreacher meets her gaze, then looks her up and down critically. Regulus fights another smile. “Kreacher, this is Capella. She’s going to take tea with us today.”

The elf’s gaze remains narrowed as he says “Mistress Black told Kreacher the young masters were bringing Miss Narcissa and Miss Capella to tea.” He steps closer to Capella and bows, the pile of coats clutched to his chest making the gesture awkward. “Kreacher is happy to take Miss Capella’s coat.”

Capella gives the elf a warm smile as she unbuttons her coat and slides it off. She folds it in half, then crouches to hand it to the house elf, who’s almost half buried beneath Regulus’ and Narcissa’s coats. “Thank you, Kreacher,” she says. “Regulus spoke favorably of you and your services to his family. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The house elf bows lowly, nearly tipping over under the weight of the coats. “Kreacher is honored to serve the most noble and ancient house of Black.”

Capella blinks, looking a bit startled at the sudden display of reverence, but her smile widens minutely. Warm pride fills Regulus’ chest. Sometimes it seemed he was the only one who thought Kreacher was both good company and good service.  
“Where’re Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion?” Narcissa asks, straightening the sleeves of her blouse.

“The Master and Mistress Black are waiting for their guests in the drawing room,” Kreacher says as he levitates the three coats to the rack by the fireplace. “Kreacher will take the young masters and their guests to them.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa says quickly, walking behind the elf as he gestures for them to follow him out of the kitchen.

Sirius rolls his eyes and nudges Capella’s shoulder as he starts after them. “Prepare to enter the viper’s nest.”

“He only means the two of you are the only ones not in Slytherin,” Regulus says, shooting a half-hearted chiding look at the back of Sirius’ head as he and Capella follow him.

“Or perhaps he thinks a cupboard will try to eat me,” Capella says bemusedly, nodding to a cabinet as they pass through the dining room.

Regulus smiles. “Perhaps. Your eyes might burn looking at my great grandmother’s dishware.” He makes a face at the cabinet. “It’s purple with green and red floral detailing, can you imagine anything more hideous?”

Suppressed laughter gleams in Capella’s eyes as they exit into the main living room. “They sound like something my mother would buy.”

Sirius stops in front of them and Regulus looks up to see they’ve paused outside the parlor. Kreacher’s shadow bleeds out into the hall from the doorway.

“What is it?” his mother’s voice orders.

“The young masters have arrived with Miss Narcissa and Miss Capella. Kreacher has brought them to Master and Mistress Black as Mistress ordered.”

“Very well, let them in. You’re dismissed until tea.”

Kreacher’s shadow bends. “Yes, Mistress Black.”

Narcissa steps into the room after Kreacher exits and starts back down the hall. Regulus nudges his brother forward, earning him a glare as Sirius stumbles, then ushers Capella in front of him as they enter the parlor. His mother stands from her chair as Narcissa presses a kiss to her cheek in greeting.

“Hello Father,” Sirius says, nodding to their father before slumping onto the sofa.

“Sirius.” Orion nods to his eldest as he closes his book, but his attention is focused on Regulus, or rather, Capella standing next to him.

Regulus steps towards his father, glancing to make sure Capella’s next to him. “Good afternoon, Father,” Regulus says before gesturing to Capella. “This is Capella.”

She reaches out to shake Orion’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Black,” she says as he grips her hand and shakes it firmly.

“The pleasure is ours,” says Orion, his steely grey eyes moving appraisingly over her face. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you you’ve been the talk of our family this week.”

Capella smiles politely. “As your family has of mine I assure you.”

Well, it wasn’t really a lie.

“Regulus?” Regulus looks over his shoulder towards where his mother sits with Narcissa. She raises a dark eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to our guest?”

Regulus guides Capella towards his mother’s chair with a nudge to her shoulder. “Mother, this is Capella Black.”

“A fine name,” Walburga says neutrally, her piercing gaze so similar to Capella’s own flicking across her face before looking her up and down.

“It’s uncanny,” she says after a moment. “She looks so much like Bellatrix as a girl.”

“Don’t insult Callie like that,” Sirius says from his spot on the sofa, his critical tone at odds with the badly suppressed grin on his face. “She just got here.”

Walburga narrows her eyes at her eldest. “Bellatrix was a lovely girl.” Sirius snorts, but their mother continues. “Any witch should be flattered to be considered like her.”

“Professor McGonagall spoke of her favorably,” Capella says, looking between the two. The tension falls from Regulus’ shoulders as their mother seems to relax at the comment. “I’ve not met her yet, but I look forward to meeting her.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Walburga’s expression settles back to its usual frown as she looks back at Capella. She gestures towards the chair next to her and Capella takes the offered seat. “You certainly favor my side of the family. Regulus said your father’s name is Mirach, is that correct?”

Capella nods. “Yes. My parents are Mirach and Galatea Black, formerly Ollivander.”

“That would explain why you went to Ravenclaw,” his mother muses, nodding in understanding as she adjusts her posture to face Capella. “Not the best house for making connections, but you could’ve done worse.” The faintest hint of confusion crosses Capella’s face but Walburga has already moved on. “Regulus mentioned you had a younger sister?”

“Adhara,” Capella says, looking decidedly more engaged now that a familiar topic has been brought up. “She’s a year younger than me. Everyone calls her Addie.”

“Pity,” says Walburga, frown deepening. “It’s an elegant name. Does she favor your mother or your father?”

“A bit of both,” Capella reaches for her pocket. “Regulus thought you’d be curious. I brought pictures, if you’d like to see them.”

His mother’s eyes widen minutely and the barest of smiles curls at her lips.“How thoughtful.” Her gaze flicks to the grandfather clock. “Perhaps we can view them over tea. The elf should have it nearly prepared by now. Regulus?”

Regulus straightens, meeting his mother’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Would you and Narcissa show Capella to the upstairs sitting room? Your father and I be up once we’ve managed things with the elf and Sirius Orion will join you once he’s changed into proper attire.” At that, she narrows her gaze at Regulus’ brother, eying his jacket the way one might a dead roach. First and middle name. Time to get Capella out before the argument likely to start in the next five seconds begins.

“Of course,” Regulus says, trying to usher Capella out of the room without looking like he’s in a hurry. Only once they were by the stairs did Regulus stop and wait for Narcissa.

His cousin shut the door behind her and sighed, shaking her head as she followed them. “Honestly, you’d think he’d have learned by now.”

“Oh, he’s learned,” Regulus says dryly, starting up the stairs. “He does it on purpose. Mother—”

Capella inhales sharply next to him as they reach the landing. “Merlin…” she breathes, looking with wide eyes towards the wall.

Regulus follows her gaze and winces as he spots the house elf heads mounted to the wall. “Sorry,” he says, placing a hand on her shoulder to guide her up the stairs again. “I should’ve warned you about those.”

She doesn’t budge, glancing towards him with wide eyes and an expression just shy of horrified. “Are those elves?” She asks, staring warily at the head closest to her as though might start speaking.

“Yes, it’s a rather odd tradition my great grandmother started,” he says, nudging her up the stairs a bit more urgently. Narcissa huffs as she passes the heads behind them and Regulus can picture the pinched look of disgust on her face. “After a while you forget they’re there. Try not to think about it.” He leads them into the second story hall and stops at the door to the sitting room, glancing behind him to make both girls are there. “This is the sitting room,” he says to Capella as he turns the handle. “If there are answers, they’ll be here.” He opens the door, stepping inside and holding it open. Narcissa smiles as she watches Capella’s eyes widen as they take in the four walls covered in dark green embroidered silk.

“You told me it was impressive, but I didn’t expect this,” she says, taking a step towards the nearest wall.”

Regulus gives her a smile and gestures for her to follow him to the back of the room. “I thought we’d start with the main family and branch outward,” he says. “I think it’ll be easier that way.”

Capella nods, the gesture’s composure nullified by her grin. “Brilliant. Where are you?”

Regulus moves to the approximate section of wall where his branch is located and trails a finger over the smooth fabric until he comes to the two branches extending from his parents. “Right here,” he says, pointing to the embroidered rendition of his face. “How about I follow my father’s side of the family and you follow my mother’s. I’ll call out names.”

Capella nods, setting her hands on her hips. “Let’s find some answers.”

He turns back to the tapestry, gaze passing over his Aunt Lucretia, Grandfather Arcturus and Grandmother Melania. “Lycoris?” he asks, lingering on his great uncle.

“No.”

He trails upwards past his and Sirius’ namesakes to the next male. “Phineas Nigellus?”

“No.”

Further up then.

“Rigel Antares?”

“…No.”

Regulus turns his head and sees Capella frowning at the tapestry, her gaze flicking over something to the right of his mother’s branch. “Did you find something?”

“What happened here?” She runs her thumb beneath a scorched patch of velvet over a stained banner reading _Andromeda._ Regulus tenses, about to dismiss it as nothing when Capella looks over her shoulder and says “Narcissa, didn’t professor McGonagall say your sisters’ names were Bellatrix and Andromeda?”

Regulus shoves down the urge to slap a hand over her mouth and mentally kicks himself for not warning her against bringing up anyone burned from the tapestry. He glances towards the sofa where Narcissa sits, her shoulders tense and eyes fixed to her lap.

“She must’ve misspoken,” she says tersely. “I only have one sister.”

Capella’s brow furrows as she looks back to the tapestry. “But there’s another branch between you and Bellatrix. Was she stillborn or did she pass away? Why’s it burned?”

“I only have one sister,” Narcissa says again, her voice thick and jaw clenched. Her pale complexion whitens noticibly as she stands from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check if Aunt Walburga needs any help. Good luck with your search.” Then she leaves the room, nearly running into Sirius as she exits. The room falls silent. Regulus chews nervously at his lip as he looks between Sirius furrowing his brow as he watches Narcissa turn down the hall and Capella frowning at the door.

“Would someone mind telling me what just happened?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at Regulus.

“Yeah,” says Sirius, looking away from the door to Regulus. “Cissa looked like she was about to cry.”

“Leave it alone, Capella,” Regulus says quietly, not meeting her eyes. “It’s not important.”

“It looks important,” She says. Regulus feels the heat of her gaze as it flicks over his face. When he doesn’t answer, she looks towards Sirius. “Who’s Andromeda?”

Sirius blinks, then looks up at the ceiling. “Ah,” he says. “That’s what happened.”

Capella takes a breath and exhales slowly. “So it seems,” she says. “Mind elaborating?”

Sirius walks over to the tapestry and runs his fingers over the burned fabric where Andromeda’s face used to be. “She was disowned,” he says, voice unusually measured and steady. He gestures to several other places where a branch has been burned off. “Everywhere you see damage like that is where someone who’s been disowned used to be.”

Capella frowns. “Why was Narcissa’s sister disowned?”

“Ha.” Sirius smiles bitterly and sticks his hands in his pockets. “She got married.”

“She got married?” Capella repeats uncertainly, brow furrowed.

“To a muggleborn,” Regulus adds, shooting his brother a look. Sirius ignores him.

Capella still looks puzzled but she moves her finger up the tree to a different burned spot. She squints at the banner beneath it. “What did Cedrella do?”

“Don’t know,” Sirius says with a shrug. “No one will tell us.” He gazes at the tapestry for a moment, before sighing and heading for the sofa. “Don’t worry about it, Callie. Just don’t mention it around mum, it irritates her.”

Capella’s frown deepens, but she continues tracing the branch without argument. Regulus sighs and continues his own searching. “Pyxis?” No answer. Regulus looks back at Capella to find her examining another burned patch. Fighting the urge to grit his teeth, he asks “Capella, is there a Pyxis in your family?”

“Hm?” She blinks and looks up. “Pyxis? No, I don’t think so.” She studies the charred silk a moment longer, then asks “What about Marius?”

“Who?” Sirius asks from where he’s reclined on the sofa, flipping through a quidditch book with his feet propped up on the arm. “Oh, Marius. He was a squib.”

“A squib?”

“I know,” Sirius says, tone rife with irritation. “Not really fair if you ask me. But we shouldn’t talk about it here. If you want to know more, Reg or I will explain when we get back to Hogwarts.” Capella opens her mouth to respond but closes it when the door opens.

“Pardon us for keeping you waiting,” Orion says as he holds the door open for his wife. Kreacher follows behind her with a tea tray.

“Not at all,” Capella says, forcibly smoothing her features. Regulus blinks as her expression becomes calculating, not unlike the way she watched him during their first charms class.

“Please, have a seat,” says Walburga, swatting Sirius’ feet off the sofa and sitting beside him. “Narcissa asked we make her excuses, she’ll be along in a bit. Now, you must show me these pictures you brought. Kreacher will pour tea and there’s ginger biscuits if you’re feeling peckish. Regulus mentioned in his letters you liked sugared ginger.”

Capella takes a seat and smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. “I do. It’s a favorite of my grandfather’s as well.”

Regulus sits on Capella’s other side and fights to keep his expression neutral. Hadn’t she said Ollivander liked black licorice this morning? Orion takes a seat in an armchair and accepts a cup of tea from Kreacher before turning to his wife. “Doesn’t your Aunt Dorea favor sugared ginger?”

Regulus’ mother nods. “My grandfather supposedly gave each of his children a tin at Christmas. I believe my father still sends her some around the holidays.”

“Christmas is the best time for it,” Capella says, her odd smile settling to something more natural as Kreacher hands her a cup of tea.

“I suppose it would be,” says Walburga, sipping from her teacup. “Warm spices are always pleasant at Christmas.”

Capella nods her agreement as she pulls the slim book she’d been looking at outside McGonagall’s office from her pocket and flips the cover to reveal small moving photographs framed in colorful paper. Walburga shifts closer to get a better view of the small scrapbook and Regulus finds himself following his mother’s example, leaning forward to squint at the black and white images.

The first picture shows a family of four standing behind a woman’s heeled shoe, all of them waving at the camera. “This was taken last year when my family went to France for Christmas,” says Capella. She gestures to the woman in the picture. Though the photograph is black and white, it’s clear her hair is lighter than her husband’s and daughters’, probably a dark blonde or light brown. The soft angles of her face accentuate her wide eyes and warm smile. She lightly jabs her elbow into the ribs of the dark-haired man next to her and his faint, clearly strained smile forcibly widens.

“My mother wanted a picture of us with our portkey,” Capella explains. “Papa was in a hurry. That’s why he looks so annoyed. And this one,” she points to the second photograph on the page showing two girls, one of which was obviously Capella, dressed in matching jumpers and cradling large, familiar looking cats in their laps. They were both obviously trying and failing not to laugh at something out of frame. The girl Regulus didn’t recognize, Adhara most likely, falls against Capella’s side as she fails to contain her giggles, startling the cat in her lap. Regulus takes a moment to marvel at Capella’s expression in the photograph. He’s seen her laugh, smile, and grin, but something about the way she couldn’t keep a straight face once her sister started laughing felt at odds with the Capella he’d observed this week.

Capella tilts the book towards his mother, skewing his view of the image. “This is Addie and me on Christmas eve three years ago.”

“May I have a closer look?” Walburga asks, reaching for a pair of reading glasses hanging from a fine chain around her neck. Capella nods and hands her the scrapbook.

She perches the spectacles on her nose and examines the picture for several moments before returning it to Capella. “It’s nice to see such a close set of sisters. You must bring your family next time you visit. Orion and I are anxious to speak with them.”

“It’s strange they haven’t come forward before now,” Orion says, setting his teacup back on its saucer. “Our family is well known at the ministry. Your parents shouldn’t have had difficulty making contact with us.”

Capella shrugs, her shoulders almost too relaxed as she flips the page. “Perhaps that’s the reason. If someone connected your family to two unspeakables, it would be easier to obtain their identities. That could pose trouble for both our families.”

“Nonsense,” Walburga says with the sort of utmost certainty Regulus knew to never dispute. She sips from her teacup. “The Blacks have always looked after their own. Only a fool would threaten such an influential family over something as trivial as an experimental magic mishap. Even the Ollivander name should be enough to discourage any insolent notions of blatant hostility.”

From his seat on the couch, Regulus has a perfect view of Sirius’ and Capella’s near identical dissenting expressions.

After a moment, Capella gives a noncommittal shrug. “My parents didn’t tell me why they never contacted you. The last letter I had from my father said he’d explain later, preferably in person. That makes me think his reasoning is either too complex to be explained in a letter or that he wants Addie and me to hear it together.” As she pauses to sip her tea, Regulus blinks and tries to keep the curiosity off his face. She never told him she sent another letter to her father.

“Unfortunately,” she continues, setting her cup down. “I don’t expect I’ll return home until Christmas holiday. Until then it’s out of my hands.”

“I’ll send an owl then,” says Orion, setting his cup on the side table and rising from his chair. He walks to the small writing desk in the corner, pulls a stack of memo cards from the drawer, and takes a quill from a round container on the desktop. “To whom should I address it?”

For a moment, Capella tenses. The reaction is so quickly stifled that Regulus wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t sitting next to her or didn’t know how difficult she was to read, but whereas his mother likely ignored the sudden movement, Regulus understands it for what it is—apprehension.

“Galatea Black of 23 Caraway Landing, Southampton,” she says, folding her hands in her lap. Regulus watches, half panicked, half fascinated as her expression quickly smooths into one of practiced impassivity. He tries to calm his nerves. There was no way she’d given his father her real address. She was smarter than that.

Orion raises an eyebrow as he copies the address. “Not your father?”

“My mother is more efficient about responding to her mail than my father,” she says with a nod. “Even if she needs to consult my father for information, you’ll probably receive a response sooner than you would’ve if you’d written him.”

Alarm, sharp and heavy seizes his lungs and he takes quiet, measured breaths, focusing on the spicy scent of the chai in his cup. Now that Capella had assured his father a response, this would end badly whether or not she’d given her real address. What was she doing?

“Hm.” Orion tucks the address into the pocket of his robes and returns the quill to the desk. “Your father must be a busy man if he’s unable to promptly sort and answer his correspondence.”

“He saves answering most of his mail for Fridays,” Capella says, smiling apologetically. “Face to face meetings are his preferred method of communication and he doesn’t like reading or writing long letters. Unfortunately, the nature of his work makes scheduling in person meetings difficult.”

“That is unfortunate,” Orion says, returning to his chair. “When should I expect a reply from your mother?”

Capella frowns thoughtfully. “Perhaps the middle of next week at the latest? It depends on what she knows and if she asks my father for information.”

The panic constricting his chest tightens. If Capella was right about her father holding a grudge against the Blacks and whatever plan she had to keep Mirach from seeing his father’s letter failed, whatever response Capella’s father sent would probably have consequences for both of them. He became vaguely aware of Capella changing the subject, showing his mother more of her pictures and he did try to pay attention, occasionally nodding at comments made by either Sirius or his mother, but his thoughts always circled back to everything that could possibly go wrong. Capella’s near inhuman ability to control and suppress her reactions made it worse. Her behavior was perfectly polite and unconcerned with anything but describing people and places from her life while Regulus struggled just to keep his face blank.

As the time approached six and Kreacher ushered them all back into their coats, he barely said goodbye to his parents in his haste to get back to Hogwarts where he could speak freely. It had been a mistake to bring her here. Whatever happened next, Regulus couldn’t convince himself it would end well for him. It certainly wouldn’t for Capella.

\---

If asked about their neighbors, most residents of Caraway Landing would agree the word strange best described the family in number 23. It wasn’t that the Blacks were bad neighbors. On the contrary, the parents were good-natured, their children were polite and well-behaved, and they never disturbed the other houses. However, some habits and behaviors are not easily ignored.

Neither Mr. or Mrs. Black drove a car, they never received the newspaper or milk deliveries, the postman never slipped anything through the mail slot at the door, the rubbish collector never stopped for the bins, and neither adult left the house except on Sundays when they’d go for a walk with their daughters in the morning and leave dressed for the theatre in the evening. Aside from on walks with their parents, the neighbors only saw the two girls when one or both of them curled up in the second-floor window seat with a book, occasionally joined by two cats.

The attic window was always open, prompting many remarks about what a shame it was to let the wind, rain, and sun damage such a charming old house, but what they didn’t know was that the open window served a very specific purpose.

At six o’clock Sunday morning, an owl flies silently down the street of colorful Victorian townhouses, tucking its wings as it sweeps into the attic and drops a parcel of envelopes and a newspaper into a basket. It perches on a nearby armchair, the only piece of furniture in the small attic room besides the end table holding the basket.

Twenty minutes later, the door creaks as a girl with dark hair enters and gathers the basket’s contents. The owl clicks its beak impatiently.

“Don’t worry, I’ve not forgotten,” she says, pulling a handful of bronze coins from her pocket and slipping them into a pouch tied to the owl’s leg. She strokes the soft feathers on its head with two fingers, smiling as the bird pushes up against her palm. “Thank you for the mail. Don’t let them work you too hard.”

The owl chirrs and nips playfully at her fingers before taking off out the window with a beat of its powerful wings. She watches it disappear down the street before pulling the twine off the parcel and flipping through the stack of envelopes. There’s several addressed to her father, a few including one marked with an official looking black seal addressed to her mother, and one addressed to her. After a glance at the achingly familiar handwriting, she’s tempted to slip it unopened into her desk with the other seven just like it, but something written on the back of the envelope catches her eye.

_Addie, I know you’re angry but please read this. It’s urgent._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudo if you enjoyed it and feel free to leave a comment if there's something I can do to make the reading experience better for you. I live for advice that helps me to become a better writer!


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